Between
by wordsareart
Summary: During the summer between S1 and S2, Max, Isabel, and Michael struggle to decide how to handle their new knowledge of destiny and their former lives. Michael and Isabel begin having dreams of their past together and must deal with the ramifications.
1. Chapter 1

This is my first (and currently only) fanfiction. I wrote it years ago, but I recently rediscovered and edited it.

Rating: PG-13 (Slight language and implied situations)

Pairing: Cliffie with a side of Rebel (Michael/Isabel, some Max/Tess)

Feedback: Yes, please. This is my first fanfiction, so no flames. However, suggestions are welcome. Kind words don't hurt, either ;-)

Summary: The Roswell gang deals with the effects of S1 events and tries to cope during the summer. While the town suffers from summer heat, Max, Isabel, Michael, and Tess are experiencing new feelings.

Set during the summer between S1 and S2. Everything the show established for that time period remains true (Liz is still in Florida, Maria is stuck at the Crashdown working and is broken up with Michael, etc.). Max has been moping around since Liz has been gone, generally leaving the Evans house only to work at the UFO Center or to talk to Maria at the Crashdown. Michael spends his time practicing gaining more control of his powers and working the Crashdown grill. Isabel struggles to form a new life that integrates who she is with her new feelings.

Disclaimer: I own 5 bucks, a laptop, and a pile of textbooks. I do not own a television show with great characters and a dedicated fan base.

Chapter 1

It was only July, but the summer had already been a long, suffocatingly hot one. Roswell seemed to go to sleep during the sticky months since Isabel learned she had lived another life, one in which she was the princess of a people she knew nothing about. During that searing summer, the distractions Isabel hoped for were nonexistent; there were no parties, no city carnivals, no town anniversaries. There weren't even any tacky conventions.

Worsening the weighty anxiety that had settled around her, Isabel felt divided from Max and Michael; the young men kept to themselves and stayed busy with work. On the rare occasion the once inseparable trio tried to spend time together, it didn't take long for Max and Michael to find something to disagree about. At home, Isabel watched Max suffer beneath his familiar stoicism. It hurt Isabel to see her brother wilting in his sadness, but she knew that helping him was useless. Invitations to hang out were rejected, and joking was met with tired half-smiles. Isabel didn't have the energy to try anymore. If Max and his tragic expressions were ever-present, Michael had essentially vanished. Isabel had seen him four times that summer—three of those times ended in Michael storming away, angry at Max. The fourth time, Michael was escaping the heat of the Crashdown kitchen on a slow day and sat down in the booth where Isabel and Tess were perusing an overpriced fashion catalog. He said something sarcastic about how he was glad to see the girls using their free time on important matters, but he mostly stared off into space, his body slumped slightly in a drained posture. Soon, a small gang of teenagers who Isabel recognized as freshman from their school walked in, and Michael drug himself back to the kitchen.

Thus, Isabel was left alone with her thoughts- of caves, of incredibly sweet but dorky human guys, of Tess and her insistence on the importance of their former lives, of alien mothers, of past identities, and, inevitably, of destiny. For the first full month of summer she dwelled on these thoughts ceaselessly. Consumed with the swirling ideas, Isabel's thoughts became her existence. Some days, hours would pass as Isabel wandered numbly around town feigning window-shopping. Other times, Isabel put herself to work; every book, newspaper, and magazine in the Evans home was now placed in alphabetical order on a bookshelf that Isabel had assembled by herself (the human way—more or less). Tess called her a few times suggesting that they go out, but Isabel frequently declined as thoughts of Tess's earlier destiny lectures echoed in her mind.

One Saturday, Mrs. Evans, clearly concerned about the changes she saw in her daughter, announced that she and Isabel would have a girls' day out—shopping, nails, and a nice lunch. Seeing the worry on her mother's face, and catching a prodding glance from Max, Isabel agreed with a weak smile. Hours later, standing in a dressing room at some trendy mall store, Isabel stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. God, she looked awful. She was pale and tired, and her eyes were frighteningly dull. With a choked laugh, Isabel recognized that she now resembled Max; the same characteristics she noted in her brother and worried about, Isabel saw in her reflection. A flash of anger, refreshing in its fire, swept over her: She was Isabel Evans, and she was ruining her life. The life that she had striven to preserve. The life that Max had suffered unspeakable pain to live. Angry, she met her reflection eye to eye, daring herself to look weak or miserable for a second longer. What good did it do? Was Max any more prepared to be their leader because he spent hours alone suffering in silence? Was Michael ready to be a general in an army because he avoided the few people he had cared about most only months before? And Tess—was she even slightly happier or more ready for an enemy attack because she did have some fleeting knowledge of their past? Feeling the tension in her chest relax for the first time in two months, Isabel laughed and cried, muffling the sounds escaping her the best she could. Soon, Isabel's mother knocked on the dressing room door; startling her slightly, Isabel realized she must have been in the small room for at least fifteen minutes. Waving a hand over her face to fix her smeared makeup, Isabel answered the door with a smile—the first genuine, purely Isabel smile her mother had seen in a long time.

After that day, and much to Diane Evans's relief, Isabel started going out. She went on a few dates with guys from school; she dressed up, flirted, kept her distance, and had real, honest-to-God fun going to the movies or sitting at the Crashdown talking about school or music and laughing with someone who knew nothing about her.

Another distraction that Isabel found surprisingly enjoyable was hanging out with Tess. The girl was a bit bent on destiny, but Isabel purposefully decided to not let the occasional lecture bother her. She supposed that she would be doing everything in her power to realize their destinies, too, if she had been the one raised by Nasedo. Years of having no affection and being told that a great love awaited her must have shaped Tess into the young woman they now knew. Plus, Isabel knew from her first encounters with Tess—before they knew her identity as the fourth alien—that the girl was possible of normal conversations and friendship like any other teenager. Isabel felt a pang of jealousy when she realized that the closeness and comfort she was beginning to feel with Tess must be what Maria and Liz had shared for years. Isabel loved Max and Michael, but there were things that she couldn't tell them. Girl things. Girl alien things. Soon, Tess and Isabel fell into a comfortable pattern of seeing each other almost every day. They talked and laughed, and Isabel felt less lonely than she had since before Max saved Liz Parker that September day.

Hopeful, Isabel and Tess sometimes even ventured to the UFO Center to try to get Max to cheer up. They teased him gently about the fake alien decorations he was in charge of placing and maintaining, and they tried to get him to talk about the center's more spacey patrons. Max let them talk, but he rarely responded with more than a shrug or mumbled comment. Isabel discovered that Tess had spent a good part of June with Michael, helping him practice controlling his powers when he wasn't busy working. Soon, Isabel and Tess both began showing up at Michael's apartment, assorted items to practice manipulating in hand. The first time Isabel came, she walked in ahead of Tess as though she belonged there. Ignoring Michael's slightly suspicious and certainly surprised look, Isabel sat a small potted plant down on Michael's coffee table.

"So," she began, glancing at Michael but focusing on Tess, "Have you two practiced with living things, yet?"

Michael stared at her. "It's a plant," he said, as though she were unaware of this fact.

"Yes, Michael, it's a plant. Plants are alive. Do you think we should skip straight to humans?" Isabel put one hand firmly on her hip.

Michael stood silently for a moment, and Isabel guessed that he was probably trying to determine what response would be sarcastic enough to piss her off without actually making her angry enough to leave.

"There's always monkeys."

"Scientists use mice," Tess cheerfully interrupted, joining Isabel. "How long do you have until work, Michael?"

Michael glanced at the clock. "Hour and a half," he replied.

"Good, that should be enough," the petite blonde said as she situated herself on the floor. "Let's see what we can do."

Michael, now intrigued, sat on the floor, as well. Together, the three manipulated the plant into blooming, wilting, changing colors, moving, and even growing. Michael had minor trouble replicating the blossoms of the plant exactly, but Isabel could tell that his focus had improved as Tess said. Later, when Isabel was driving Tess home, Tess told Isabel how Michael would appear deeply frustrated sometimes during their earlier sessions when he couldn't focus his energy on a single target. When Tess tried to help him improve his aim, he accidentally caused an entire row of glasses in his cabinet (glasses that Isabel remembered buying him) to explode while trying to hit a single bottle across the room. Isabel wished there was something she could do for him; she knew that it bothered Michael that he still couldn't keep himself under control like Max could. Still, Isabel was proud of him for trying—not that she would ever tell him that. She could only imagine the smart aleck response that she would get. Meeting at Michael's apartment with Tess became another part of Isabel's routine after that day. The frequency and duration of the meetings changed to fit Michael's work schedule, but the practice sessions were always enjoyable for Isabel. Michael, too, seemed to be brightening slightly after his more sullen attitude earlier that summer.

If Isabel was being honest, she might admit that there was another reason she had been hanging out with Michael, one that went beyond honing powers. In her quiet, proud way, Isabel had been desperately trying to rebuild their relationship over the summer. The dreams they had shared put a very serious crack in the foundation of their close friendship, and she was trying to repair it. Though they never spoke of it, she could tell that he was, too. Most of the time, he tried his best to be nice to her. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes he couldn't take it anymore and became Michael again- irritable, sarcastic, overreacting, rebel without a clue, blunt Michael. She liked and missed that Michael.

Isabel was supposed to meet Tess at the Crashdown for a quick drink before heading to the nearby theater. While they had done this many times before throughout the summer, today was special. Today was the first time she had been able to convince Max to go along with her. Max had the day off from work as the center's owner was having a yearly deep cleaning done by professional cleaners. Apparently, the science fiction "stars" who were expected to flock to Roswell for the coming fall's crash festival expected only the finest in convention center cleanliness. Without the excuse of work (and with her mother's concerned prodding), Isabel managed to gently yet firmly force Max into leaving the house for a day out with the single goal of having fun. While she doubted that Max would actually achieve that goal, she hoped that he'd at least relax a little bit. Isabel walked down the sidewalk toward the restaurant in her form-fitting jean skirt, one that a lot of guys seemed to appreciate, and purple tank top with her solemn-looking brother in tow.

"Quit frowning," Isabel told Max. "Your face is going to get stuck like that."

Max smiled an almost imperceptible smile and met his sister's playful gaze.

"Too late," he replied with a note of humor.

"Oh, my God—it made a joke!" Isabel teased.

Max's mouth remained more or less neutral, but Isabel could see a smile in his eyes.

When they got to the Crashdown, Tess was already waiting for them in a booth. Isabel was excited about her brother coming out of his room to do something with her, but she was anxious about Tess trying to be too friendly. Isabel worried that Tess would view this outing as her only chance to become closer to Max. If that was her line of thinking, she might be a little too persistent. Isabel comforted herself with the thought that Tess had calmed down a little bit since the beginning of the summer. She seemed more at ease when spending time with Isabel and Michael and less like she was trying to force herself into their lives. Maybe she would behave herself. Tess spotted them and smiled more sincerely and brilliantly than Isabel could recall. Maybe she wouldn't behave herself.

When they got to the booth, Max smiled slightly at Tess in greeting. Tess seemed to catch herself and consciously toned down the radiating adoration. Casually, she addressed him.

"Nice to see you out, Max."

Isabel greeted Tess warmly, and the three decided to go straight to the theater instead of getting a few drinks to cool them off first. Once at the theater, Max gave Tess and Isabel the full responsibility of choosing the movie. Isabel had seen enough movies this summer, to last her both her present and past lifetimes. Still, Roswell was Roswell, and going to the movies beat watching paint dry.

"It's up to you guys. I really don't care," Max said.

"Fine, but if we pick a movie that you don't like, it's your own fault. You can't use it as an excuse to not leave the house for another two months," Isabel replied with exaggerated annoyance.

"I won't," Max answered, a vaguely embarrassed expression flashing briefly across his face.

"I don't think your parents would let him miss the first 4 weeks of school," Tess said flatly while still looking at the list of movies showing. Isabel smiled broadly at the other girl, and Max actually smiled at her, too- though just barely. Tess tried her best to hide it, but Isabel could practically see her heart fluttering in her chest.

"A horror movie," Isabel said decisively. "There's some new slasher movie out. There it is… The next showing is in ten minutes. Perfect." Isabel smiled at her brother and friend. She thought it better to keep the three of them occupied than allow Tess too much time to think about her latest small victory in her war for Max's affection.

That night, sitting on her bed and feeling something close to happiness, Isabel reflected on the day. Tess and Max had actually gotten along very well; maybe a summer of moping was what Max needed to get over his Liz obsession. And maybe some time away from Nasedo's coldness and reminders of a past life had brought more of Tess's human side to the surface. Whatever it was, Isabel was happy that the day had gone so smoothly. Everything seemed to be slowly working itself out. Life was not perfect, but it seemed on a steady path to some sort of alien-human normalcy.

Isabel brushed out her hair and turned out the light. After a few minutes of lying peacefully in bed, she drifted to sleep.

Then, the dreams came.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Ok, so you two are having the same dreams at the same time—again?" Max, tired and confused, asked. Michael was sitting at Max's desk, and Isabel was seated next to her brother on his bed.

Michael nodded.

"Yeah. We haven't compared notes or anything, but after what happened last time…" Michael trailed off for a minute. "Let's just say that it's probably the same." he finished in a harsh tone.

Isabel looked bewildered. How come all of this was happening to her? Didn't they get past this already? As soon as she and Michael were getting to be more comfortable around each other, all of those feelings of confusion and need were refreshed in their minds. It wasn't fair.

"What do we do? I mean, the dreams stopped before, after we found out that we had…destinies," Isabel hesitated saying the word that, to Max and Michael's ears, was almost a curse. "But what about now? What set them off this time? How do we stop them?" Isabel asked with a pained expression on her face.

"I'm not sure. You two have to tell me exactly what happened in the dreams. Maybe they have something to do with our past. They could help us," Max suggested with a pensive expression.

For the briefest moment, Michael looked completely helpless. Then, his face twisted with annoyance and anger.

"Well, maybe we don't want to pass on every single detail to you, Maxwell. Maybe we don't want to talk about this at all. Did you ever think of that? Maybe it's just a weird thing that happens to aliens who are connected in our...our..culture, or whatever you want to call it," Michael snapped, standing up and crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

"Michael, I really don't want to talk about our dreams either, but Max is just trying to help. Maybe he's right; maybe we should talk about them," Isabel said, regaining her composure. Michael looked ready to rebut her idea, but Isabel continued, "Max, I think Michael and I should try talking to each other about these dreams first. They're not very…comfortable to remember. Not tonight, but soon Michael and I will go over what we saw. We'll let you know of anything important." Isabel was unnerved, but she sounded cool and level.

Max looked from Isabel to Michael, considering Isabel's plan.

"Okay. You guys can talk to each other first. It may not be anything. It may just be a part of our genetics or culture, like you said. Still, we have to take every precaution, especially now that Nasedo is taking over for Pierce. We have to be careful not to draw any attention to ourselves until some distance is put between us and...what happened."

Everyone had been very careful to not say anything about the white room to Max, and Max himself never mentioned the events directly. Isabel nodded at what Max said, and Michael looked between Max's steady, sincere gaze and Isabel's pleading one.

"Fine. Iz and I will talk. We'll report back and tell you anything we saw that might be important. But, I'm not giving you every damn detail. It's private." Max and Isabel nodded and respected his Michael-ness, that quality that made Michael shut down when confronted with anything private or uncomfortable.

"Ok, so how about tomorrow? The sooner we get this resolved, the better for us both," Isabel said, looking up at Michael from her position on the bed.

"Yeah, yeah. That sounds good. How about my place?" Michael paused and looked at Max though he was speaking to Isabel. "We won't have any interruptions there." Max looked away from Michael, his jaw tight with a suppressed remark.

Isabel nodded. "Ok, uh, I'll come over at 4?"

Michael shook his head. "I would rather get this over with as soon as possible, so if it's all the same to you how about we meet at 11?"

"Sure. Get it over with quickly," Isabel agreed.

"Why don't you just spend the night here, Michael? I know you walked here. Tomorrow morning, Iz will drive you back to your apartment, you two will talk, and then she can come back and tell me how it goes," Max suggested tiredly.

Michael nodded his response, and Max and Isabel stood. Isabel headed back to her room silently, and Michael watched her walk away with an unreadable expression. Max took a step forward so that he was beside Michael. He asked, "Why did you come here?"

Michael looked at him like he was stupid. "Well, I was just part of a discussion about having a shared intergalactic dream with your sister; where the hell were you?" Michael asked, sarcasm dripping from his tense voice.

Max sighed.

"I mean, why didn't you just wait until morning? You seemed so…panicked. When I first saw you at my window, I thought something happened…that something was chasing you."

"Look, I'm tired, Max. Isabel and I are going to have this conversation tomorrow; just leave it alone. I was worried, but I don't even know why myself, all right?" Michael asked with annoyance. Max nodded and turned out his light as he lay down in his bed. Michael grabbed the sleeping bag from underneath the desk and unrolled it on the floor. He wondered how many times over the years he'd come to Max's window in the middle of the night. He was glad the sleeping bag was still there.

"Goodnight, Michael," Max said wearily.

"G'night, Max," Michael said in a clipped voice.

Isabel laid down in her bed, the sheets warm from the summer air pervading the house. She couldn't believe that this was happening again. At least this time they had an idea of what to do. It felt good to have a plan- even a flimsy one.

In spite of her efforts not to, Isabel thought back to the dreams earlier that night:

The familiar desert terrain expanded endlessly in front of her. She was back to where the first dreams had taken place, and she soon saw flashes of the first dreams. She saw and felt it happening all over again, but this time she felt a deeper connection made. It felt realer than before—something she hadn't thought possible.

Then, the scene changed. She was in a place she had never seen before. A soft carpet of what resembled moss covered the ground, and huge, beautiful plants, neither trees nor bushes, stood everywhere with creeping ivy-like vine looping around them. The vegetation all wore the hue plants do after a rainstorm, a more vibrant and fresh green than usual. The plants seemed to slightly wave, vibrating with life. Where there wasn't any grass, there was soft moss. The sky above her was a smoky grey, but it had breath-taking glowing blue and gold streaks through it. Despite having never been there before, Isabel felt as though it was her home, and she loved this place. She knew the area intimately—the symbols carved on the trees, the dips and swells in the moss, the surprisingly smooth feeling of the plants reaching overhead. In the distance, Isabel saw a massive stone building, one with the same ivy from the trees around her covering it. Looking up in wonder at the brilliant sky, Isabel saw a large red and gold creature perched on a high branch; it looked like a painting that she had once seen of a phoenix in a mythology textbook. Life seemed to glow from the creature. Looking at down at her arms, Isabel realized that radiated as well. Her arm was almost human in shape and size, though more slender, but the skin was very different. The top layer of her skin was nearly translucent with a sparkling glow to it, and the thicker layer underneath was a deep, gold color. Isabel was still herself, but she felt buzzing with energy. She felt awake for the first time.

Suddenly, there was a rustling in the bushes. When she looked up she, Isabel saw a man standing there. She knew instantly that it was Michael, but he was different. The combination of her brain telling her that it was Michael before her and the glowing creature she saw made it hard to look at him as much as she wanted to. However, the other form of herself, the one who knew where she was in this dream, was obviously in control, because she heard herself say 'Rath' and run to the man's arms. He smiled at her, and she felt safe and exhilarated.

A series of flashes came, then. She was at a huge, dark table; at the head of it sat Max's other form, Zan, and next to him was Tess's dream self, Ava. There were flashes of a great celebration with throngs of glowing, luminescent forms crowding together and cheering blissfully. Flashes of Rath and her dream self, Vilandra, kissing lovingly yet passionately in an ornate room. Isabel knew that this was her bedroom in the palace; she knew innately, just as she knew the names of the people she saw. An image, then, of her other self with a rounded stomach, clearly pregnant and very happy. Rath stood with her proudly.

However, the barrage of images, a history of joy, changed jarringly. Isabel saw war and destruction. She saw a threatening man coming close to her, saying words that she couldn't hear but that she knew were frightening. And she feared for her child's life. So many people dying—many of the people she recognized from her visions of the palace celebration. She saw people put in chains and marched through the area that she recognized as having been where that beautiful forest once stood. The carpet of moss was trampled in black mud and scarlet blood. She saw Tess, or Ava, or whoever it was die; there was a battle being fought near her, but she was killed in an execution, kneeling dignified on the ground as the fiery power of their enemies surged through her. Zan fell on the field, too exhausted from trying to help to protect himself. Rath, tall and brave but overwhelmed at the sheer mass of the opposition, fought with determination; he didn't realize Zan was already gone.

The man who had been threatening Isabel before wrapped his arms around her body and pulled a knife from his belt. He thrust it into her lower chest, right above her curved stomach. Isabel felt the pain of her dream form as though it were her own; she felt herself fall. Rath ran to her. He dropped to his knees beside her and tried to heal her, but he lacked the energy necessary. He, too, would soon be gone. He laid his head gently against her stomach where he knew that their child would soon die, and he cried. He sobbed. There was nothing that either Isabel or her dream self could do; she would die now as she did before. The woman lying on the ground stroked Rath's hair gently and said without speaking, "I love you. I don't want to leave you, but we will be together again in our next life."

Rath looked at her with a tear-stained face. "After I fall to ash, I will find you, and I will love you. Our lives aren't over."

Isabel felt her dream self cry, and she knew that she ,too, was crying as she lay in her bad.

"Until I see you again," the woman whispered and crumbled as Rath received a final flash from his beloved.

Isabel felt herself suddenly being drained of her energy. She felt her world go black as her breath became ragged and hard to draw. She felt her life slipping away against her will, unprepared to be consumed by the darkness. Isabel threw herself straight up in her bed with a cry of sadness and pain. She had seen herself die, and she had seen, in the moments before her death, flashes of the person she loved more than life itself dying as well. Perhaps worst of all, she felt her child die inside of her; she felt the tiny life—so cherished by its parents- slip away.

She knew that it had happened; all she could do was let her body be wracked by sobs. She couldn't change the past.

The early morning passed quickly enough. Everyone got up and ate lightly without speaking. Max told his parents that Michael had spent the night because they had stayed up late playing computer games the night before. Isabel doubted that her parents cared why Michael stayed over; they just seemed happy to see Max making contact with his friends again. More than once, Isabel noticed Michael looking at her with a lost gleam in his eyes. She felt sick thinking about the impending conversation. The time to drive Michael back to his apartment came too quickly; the ride there was filled with the noise of the blaring radio. Once Michael and Isabel arrived at the apartment, they both stood silently in the living room.

"So...I guess we should talk," Michael said in a stern yet awkward voice.

"Yeah, I guess so," Isabel responded anxiously.

Both Michael and Isabel stood completely still, neither speaking after their brief exchange.

"Okay, this is getting us nowhere. We should just, uh, bite the bullet and get it over with. We probably did have the same dream, so it's not like we'll be learning anything new," Isabel reasoned out.

"Yeah, you're right. There's no reason to be nervous," Michael responded.

"I'm not nervous."

"Neither am I."

"Good."

"Great."

They both stood in silence for a few more minutes.

"Okay, we're not getting anywhere, so I'll start," Isabel said, then began pacing nervously as she spoke. "In the beginning of the dream I was in the desert, by the cave. Then there was like a flash, and suddenly I saw...images...of...," Isabel was at a loss for words. "Of our first dreams, from a few months ago."

Michael nodded while keeping his eyes focused on the floor.

"Then there was another flash, and I was...well I really don't know where I was, but it was..." Isabel searched for the words.

"Home." Michael supplied.

Isabel shut her eyes for a moment, then nodded. "And it was amazing. It was like nothing I've ever seen before. I mean everything was just so...alive and beautiful. But, it wasn't me exactly. It's hard to describe."

"I understand," Michael said, and Isabel knew from his tone that he did.

"Then you were there, or the other form of you, and I called you Rath. Then I saw so many things. Max, Tess, but not really Max and Tess, and our...," Isabel trailed off at the painful memory.

"Yeah," Michael said quietly. "I saw it, too. Only, I saw you through my—Rath's—eyes. I think that we're remembering things, Isabel. I saw everything that you saw for myself, not like a dream that I was watching but a memory," Michael said trying to describe his experience.

Isabel nodded. "There was more. I saw the war and people dying. Tess...they murdered her. Max was so weak at the end—he couldn't even defend himself. Oh, God, there was so much blood everywhere..." Isabel felt the pain again and began crying silently. "I saw myself die. I felt myself die. I felt our child's life vanish inside of me. It was...," Isabel was, at this point, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably.

Michael wrapped his arms around Isabel and held her close to him; maybe if he held her tight enough he could keep the memories from touching her. He let her cry out all of her frustration and sadness, and he felt his eyes fill with threatening tears, as well.

Isabel's crying subsided, and he felt her quiet in his arms. Michael continued embracing her. Isabel rested her head against his chest warily, the exhaustion of not having been able to rest the night before after having had a long day taking its toll on her. When he looked down into her face, Michael saw the tired look in her eyes and knew that the physical exhaustion she had felt was nothing compared to the mental toll the dreams were able to take on her in such a short time. For the first time, Michael wondered if remembering their past was worth the price they would pay.

Isabel yawned. In her mind, she had been constantly reliving that moment of her and her unborn child's death. After she left Max's room the night before, Isabel replayed the memories on a mental loop and tried not think how similar her dark room was to the darkness that consumed her as she felt her life slipping away.

"Iz," Michael began with a rare softness, "why don't you lie down? I have to go to the Crashdown in an hour, but you look tired."

"Gee thanks," Isabel replied flatly.

"You know what I mean. You can barely keep your eyes open; I don't want you to get into an accident on your way home. You can take a nap on the couch or in my room and then leave after you've gotten some rest," Michael offered.

"Oh, no. I couldn't. I mean, my house isn't far. I'll be okay," Isabel insisted.

"Not taking no for an answer. If you fell asleep at the wheel and veered into oncoming traffic, Max would kill me," Michael said slightly overdramatically.

"Michael, no,.." Isabel responded, half pleading.

"Humor me." Michael sounded gruff, but Isabel saw sincerity in his eyes.

"Okay. Alright, fine. I'll take a quick nap and then leave, okay? Happy now?"

Michael smiled smugly. Isabel stretched out on Michael's couch as he rattled around in the kitchen.

"You know I probably won't even be able to get to sleep. I'm used to sleeping in my own room," Isabel stated matter-of-factly. Michael nodded.

Ten minutes later, she was sleeping peacefully. Michael looked at the clock and realized that he needed to leave now if he was going to make his shift at the Crashdown. As he was leaving, Michael paused at his door and looked at Isabel. For a moment, he stood there watching her sleep and remembering the dream from the previous night. He sighed and turned out the light before shutting the door. He didn't like feeling anything other than friendship towards the familiar young woman asleep on his couch, but Michael knew beyond doubt that the alien part they had all suppressed for years was beginning to grow stronger, and it refused to be ignored. Michael shook his head. Life sucked.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Isabel stretched out lazily as she woke up. She was stiff, but felt more well-rested than she had before. Looking around Michael's living room, she wondered how anyone- let alone her—could sleep peacefully in such a pig sty. She decided that it was her responsibility as Michael's friend to make his apartment more presentable...or at least more sanitary.

Isabel began organizing magazines and newspapers by date into two stacks on Michael's table. She put all of the mail scattered along the kitchen counter in one neat pile by Michael's telephone. She checked all of the expiration dates on food and threw away anything that was no longer edible, which included a mystery item shoved in the bottom produce drawer that was starting to turn green. Isabel sighed in disgust. How could anybody live like this? After there was some general organization established, Isabel looked in the cabinet under Michael's kitchen sink. Sitting in a neat row, clearly unopened and untouched, were the cleaning supplies Isabel had bought Michael when he first moved in. Michael had protested that he knew an easier way to clean, but Max gave him an exasperated look and told him that they were trying to lay low—even if that meant cleaning manually. Isabel settled Michael's protests by taking matters into her own hands and stocking his apartment with all necessary cleaning supplies.

Equipped with the proper materials, Isabel scrubbed the layer of dust from the windows, countertops, tables, and various odds and ends Michael had collected in his home. Isabel then cleaned the few dishes in the sink and collected all of the dirty clothes that were lying around into a bag for washing. Glancing towards the bathroom and bedroom, Isabel decided that she might as well be thorough in her cleaning since Michael certainly wasn't interested in keeping his apartment even slightly sanitized.

A few hours after she had begun, Isabel was satisfied with her work. Looking at the black hamper bag of clothes leaning against the front door, Isabel decided that she would take Michael's clothes to her house to be washed; it was cheaper than going to the laundromat. When Isabel arrived home, she was glad to find that her parents had already left. Her father, Philip Evans, had been invited to give a guest lecture at a college a few hours away. The same city was home to a couple the Evans's had been friends with years before, so Isabel's parents decided to make the trip together and stay at a hotel for the weekend. Upon looking around the house, Isabel found that Max was gone, presumably at work. Isabel was thankful she wouldn't have to explain her and Michael's earlier conversation just yet.

While she was waiting for the clothes to finish being washed, Isabel went to the grocery store a few miles away and got some milk, eggs, bread, and a few other inexpensive items that would keep Michael from starving. By the time Isabel got back to Michael's apartment, it was just past 7:15. After having done so much work, Isabel was beginning to feel tired and rather sweaty. She decided that she had time for a quick shower before Michael was due back.

Michael had a long day. Maria was trying to flirt with him again but without technically flirting. Whenever he called her on it, she said that he was just imagining things and that it was probably because he was the one who wasn't over her— most certainly not the other way around. Or something like that; he really didn't listen. At 1 o'clock, just like he had almost every day since Liz left, Max took his lunch break at the Crashdown. He came in and ordered his lunch while asking Maria if she'd heard anything. Today, though, Max seemed a little bit less desperate. In fact, Michael would go so far as to say that Max wasn't even pathetic when he gave Maria his order.

Max had caught Michael's eyes and made an attempt to subtly ask Michael how his discussion with Isabel had gone and why she hadn't come home yet by the time Max left to go to work. Michael had been able to answer enough of Max's questions to get him off of his back, but he conveniently didn't hear Max ask about the dreams as he was busy dropping onion rings into the fryer.

And then came the tourists. A whole group of those alien-searching, rubber metallic antennae-wearing, National Enquirer-reading dorks who insisted on making their yearly pilgrimage to Roswell just to prove how much of a loser they all really were. He would grind his teeth every time one of them asked a waitress if they had seen any little green men, or, if they were trying to be really cool and impress the rest of the nerds, they would just ask if there were ever any "unusual occurrences" around town. Humans. It was obvious to Michael that he was the one who was part of an advanced race. Never was he any more grateful to only be half human than when the tourists came- even before he was stuck cooking food for them.

Many times that day he had been tempted to use his powers to cook the burgers and fries just so that these alien-chasing geeks would have consumed something cooked by an alien and never even realized it; it would be his own hilarious, private joke. Besides, it would have been the fastest lunch service the Crashdown had ever seen, and he wouldn't have been stuck sweating over a scorching hot grill in the sauna of a kitchen. Unfortunately, Michael knew that food tasted better when cooked the human way, and even though he didn't care about the loser tourists that he was making the food for, he didn't want the Parkers to lose business because of his spitefulness. The Parkers had been pretty nice about giving him a steady job and fair pay, so he figured that his not ruining the food was his way of repaying them.

Adding to his frustration, Michael couldn't get Isabel off of his mind. Neither his alien side nor his human side could ignore the fact that Isabel was right then asleep on his couch. Isabel. His friend. His very curvaceous, funny, sweet (in her own way), sarcastic, perfectionist, lusted-after friend. That alone made the day nearly unbearable. He wanted to be there; he wanted to sort out what it was he was feeling and why. How could he do that while frying burgers for a bunch of misplaced Trekkies?

As the day dragged on, Michael kept remembering the previous night's dreams. He remembered the pain and destruction, but he also remembered the love and deep connection. And the need. Michael wasn't used to feeling need for someone else; he had always been on his own in one way or another. More and more, though, Michael had begun to experience that strong sense of desire that surpassed simple want. He wondered how long it had been forming. The first dreams, the ones on the cliff with Isabel standing there waiting for him in her black gown, haunted Michael. He had them again many times after Isabel's had stopped; he knew his continuing dreams weren't because of celestial alignment or some stone book. They stayed with him because he couldn't stop thinking about them. The thought of having an alien baby conceived via dream had undeniably scared Michael; neither he nor Isabel were ready for that. However, the thought of them together was somewhat less terrifying. Michael knew that he would be lying if he said that he had never thought of Isabel in…that way before. He was a guy, after all, and Isabel was Isabel. Michael bet there wasn't a straight male at their school (and maybe in their town) who hadn't had at least a fleeting thought about Isabel Evans. But, Michael didn't really do "crushes." They were stupid and made you weak. After the dreams, Michael had a harder time keeping his feelings in check, but he tried. When he learned of his past life as a military commander, Michael felt as though his attempts at keeping himself removed from all of the relationship mess that Max found himself stuck in was justified; a soldier couldn't have any woman waiting for him, whether it was an Earth girl who let him steal her car or an alien princess who had brought an extra lunch for him to school until they were 14. Now, however, Michael wasn't so sure. In his past life, Michael had been a great military general; he was sure of it after last night's dreams. However, he was also sure that, in the same past life, he had been in love—completely, totally, chick flick-level in love. Though he hadn't been emotionally prepared to see it, Michael had expected the death and destruction of war; he hadn't expected the joy he saw. He needed time to think.

As though he couldn't get any more tense, Roswell had hit a record-breaking July temperature. It was too damn hot for this dream mess. For god's sake, why did the desert have to be so miserable. The weather couldn't have tried to cooperate with him for once. It couldn't be a little bit windy. Or just a little bit below boiling point. Of course not. Nothing could ever work out the way that he wanted it too, and when Michael would think about the weather—which he did every five minute as the sweat soaked his t-shirt- he would think about when Isabel made it snow. And that would lead to thinking about Isabel in general, which was something that he was trying to avoid.

To say the least, Michael was looking forward to coming home and just collapsing on his bed to sleep away the rest of this horrible day. When business tapered off around 5 and the restaurant stayed dead for the next two hours, Mr. Parker decided it wouldn't kill anyone to close the Crashdown early just one day. Walking out the door at 7:05 p.m. instead of 8, Michael felt that maybe his luck would start improving.

By the time he had gotten to his door, Michael's thoughts had once again drifted to Isabel and the way that he had left her earlier, sleeping quietly. Michael entered his apartment and knew immediately that something was different. Looking around, it wasn't hard to tell what that something was. Everything was clean and organized. He looked in his refrigerator and noticed the fresh food and lack of the well-known "something died in here" smell.

Walking into his bedroom, Michael could smell the clean sheets. Looking in his drawers, he found all of his clothes had been folded neatly. They, too, were clean. The whole place vibrated with a certain over-achieving Isabel quality. Michael tried to be tough and upset about her messing with his stuff, but he just couldn't when he had that elated feeling in his chest. She cared enough about him to not want him to live in waste. Walking out of his room he felt like a dork for smiling like he had just been to a Metallica concert because one of his two oldest friends had cleaned up his place from him. He felt so pathetic. He was suddenly very sorry for Alex.

Isabel had just gotten out of the shower when she heard the front door open and close, followed by a rustling sound in the living room and bedroom. Looking at her watch lying on the bathroom counter, she saw that it was only 7:30. It couldn't be Michael, because he wasn't supposed to be home until at least 8:15 or later. She briefly thought that it might be Max, but she figured that Max would have knocked or called first.

Her nerves getting the better of her, Isabel put on her underwear and tank top quickly. Hearing more noises outside, she decided that she was dressed enough and that she should start looking around for something heavy to take out with her to confront the intruder. Isabel knew that she would use her powers if necessary, but she really didn't want to have to resort to that. Isabel spotted a pipe propped up against the corner by the sink, no doubt from when Michael and Max had attempted to fix a leaky pipe the human way a few months ago just to prove that they could. It hadn't worked, but Isabel had a good laugh watching them.

Picking up the pipe, Isabel crept stealthily out into the pitch black apartment.

Michael heard something coming from the bathroom. He didn't think it could be Isabel; she would have made her presence known. Michael quickly glanced around the dark kitchen looking for something heavy; he grabbed a pan from the shelf above the sink. Michael wasn't above using his powers for protection against human invaders, but he figured that Max and Isabel would be pissed off if anyone ever did break in and he didn't try to protect himself the human way first. Besides, he knew that someone breaking into his apartment and then just blowing up didn't really spell normal.

Looking toward his bedroom and gripping the metal pan, Michael quietly walked back to the front door and closed it as quietly as possible. The only light coming in dimly through the windows, Michael walked silently across the dark living room, trying to stay in the shadows.

The two aliens crept quietly, each moving toward the doorway leading from the living room while listening for the enemy. Isabel could make out a large shadow, and Michael heard quick breathing. Isabel snuck up on the shadow from the side, ready to attack. Michael listened as the breathing got closer, gripping the pan tightly. Ready to swing, he quickly flipped the light switch and poised himself to strike, but he stopped the swing in mid-air.

Isabel began to swing at the large shadow as light filled the room, but she paused half-way through the quick swing.

"Isabel?" Michael asked unbelievingly.

"Oh, god, Michael! You jerk!" Isabel dropped the pipe and punched his bicep hard. "I nearly had a heart attack! You're lucky I didn't just slam you with a pipe!" Isabel's heart was nearly jumping out of her chest, and her voice was breathy.

"I almost took your head off with a baseball bat! You should've told me that you were still here!" Michael practically yelled, still feeling tense.

"Well excuse me, but I was in the shower because I got all sweaty cleaning up someone's disgusting apartment!" Isabel put her hands on her hips matter-of-factly.

Michael was about to say something back when he noticed Isabel's current clothing- underwear and a slightly wet black tank top. Isabel's words washed over him, but he distinctly heard the word sweaty. Images filled his thoughts: The way Isabel looked on the rare occasion she played basketball with him and Max. Little pieces of hair would fall from her ponytail and frame her face, and she would be clearly flushed. The sweat rested on her in a light sheen with little droplets on her forehead and sometimes along her collar bone.

Between the very hormonally-driven images in his head, Isabel's state of general undress, and the unused adrenaline he still felt coursing through him from the supposed burglar, Michael's frustration and discomfort, still present from earlier, became drastically increased. He had thought that his night couldn't get any worse.

"Michael, are you all right?" Isabel had a concerned look.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I just spaced out for a minute. Sorry for trying to kill you, Iz. I like what you did with my apartment," Michael said trying to get his voice to sound normal, neither too high nor too thick.

Isabel looked at him suspiciously. Michael knew that she was surprised to hear him thank her, but he had been making an effort to fix the gap that had developed between him and Isabel over the last few months. A look of surprise crossed Isabel's face and she crossed her arms quickly over her chest.

"Clothes! I was….shower…I'm going to get dressed now," Isabel retreated to the bathroom.

Michael sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes while sitting down heavily on his couch. A few minutes later, he heard the bathroom door open and stood once again.

"Okay, I'm going home now. Max will be worried- you know him. He's probably already spazzing out and forming a search group."

Isabel appeared as uncomfortable as Michael was because, as she spoke, she was backing slowly towards the door and avoiding Michael's eyes.

"Okay, see you later," Michael replied as he stood in his place by the couch, putting his hand to the back of his neck.

Isabel opened the door but then paused. She turned around slowly wearing a thoughtful expression. Isabel crossed the room quickly wrapped her arms around him Michael in a hug. He returned the hug with that dorky elated feeling coming back, as well as more discomfort at such close physical contact. When Isabel pulled back slightly, they both left their arms loosely around one another, and she raised her eyes to meet his.

"I, uh, just wanted to, you know, thank you." Michael looked puzzled. "For earlier—letting me sleep here and everything. And just being my friend again this summer," Isabel said quietly but sincerely. Michael smiled.

"We'll always be friends. We'll always be close…as long as I can keep from pissing you off too badly."

Isabel grinned and pulled away.

"I'll see ya, Michael," she said, walking towards the door.

"Yeah. See ya later, Isabel," Michael replied with a stupid grin on his face.

Once Isabel was gone, Michael sat down on his couch for a moment to catch his breath. When he had said that they'd always be close, Isabel had seemed so happy. Maybe he had done something right for once. Looking around his apartment and knowing that Isabel was now almost touching everything in his life, he began to worry again. His feelings for her had been less than platonic lately. In fact, he had always cared about Isabel in a not-very-brotherly way, but at the same time, he had never really pegged the love as being romantic. It was just love. He had chalked any adolescent staring up to hormones and gone on with life.

When the dreams came, though, he not only felt that unnamable love for her, but also a kind of remembered romantic love. It was so tainted with confusion and stressful circumstances that he kept it quiet and tried to ignore it. He still tried to unsuccessfully. Michael was determined not to let this feeling consume him, though. He learned his lesson from Max and Liz: Love=Good, Obsession=Bad. As much as Michael believed in that simple mantra, he had a persistent feeling that his alien side soon was going to stop riding shotgun to his human side…and the alien part of him was what started this whole mess.

As much as Michael attempted to stay disconnected and keep his human side hidden, seeing Nasedo's complete, cold indifference had shown him how human he really was. Lately, Michael had begun wondering if his, Michael, Isabel, and Tess's species was more human than he'd previously thought. Why else did Max and Isabel's mother appear to them in such a warm manner? Why would the dreams that he and Isabel had shared last night be so filled with feelings if their race couldn't experience emotion as Nasedo suggested?

Sighing, Michael stood up and headed towards his bedroom for a night of rest. He decided that there would be no point in thinking about his questions anymore tonight, and nothing could be solved after a day like his.


	4. Chapter 4

Driving home, Isabel thought about the past year; her memories felt more like movie clips than real things that had happened. She tried to remember how they had come from leading a vaguely normal life to…this. Isabel had always hoped that one day they would learn more about who they were and where they came from, but she now thought her former hope naive. Every answer led to more questions and moved them further away from the relatively safe life they had carved out in Roswell. Still, as wrong as it was to involve others in their potentially deadly secret life, Isabel enjoyed having friends she knew she could trust; even if Liz and Max never spoke again and Michael ended up destroying Maria's kooky heart, Isabel knew that the two girls would never tell. Isabel didn't doubt Alex's silence, either. He was such a kind-hearted, loyal guy; she didn't know what she did to warrant his adoration. Isabel felt bad that she couldn't return it. As much as she liked him, she didn't love him. She didn't lust wildly after him or sit around writing "Isabel Whitman" in the margins of notebooks. Max and Liz might have been doomed, but they had spent their short time together so in love that other people could sense from across the room. It was silly and unrealistic and would end badly, Isabel knew, but it was undoubtedly love. Max was miserable now, of course.

It seemed like everyone was suffering quietly, either pining away or perfecting the art of avoidance. Tess was still in love with Max. Liz had escaped for the summer. Maria was still trying her hard-to get routine with Michael. And Michael...well. Isabel suddenly realized that despite her worrying about Michael and trying to smooth over their awkwardness, she had no idea what he was thinking. She could guess that he was speculating about their past lives and maybe worrying about what their dreams signified. Was there an enemy coming? Would they be expected to fight? What were they fighting for? Michael might even be thinking about Max; the pair hadn't spoken in two weeks now.

Reflecting on the night and wracking her mind for clues that might suggest Michael's current state, Isabel realized that something had seemed to be bothering him lately. When they were talking and she gave him a playful shove or touch, he would freeze. Michael always shook it off quickly, but his awkwardness hadn't escaped her. At first, she thought that he was just angry with her or felt weird around her because of their dreams. However, aside from his apparent discomfort with her touching him, Michael had treated her normally since they had started hanging out together with Tess. She hypothesized, as well, that maybe he was getting flashes of something when he touched her, like he had with the key; but, she was sure he would have been all too eager to share any images he had gotten that could possibly lead to new discoveries. The only remaining theory she had come up with was that he was making it clear that destiny was something he wanted no part of.

Snapping out of her thoughts as she hit a small pothole in the road, Isabel realized that she had just driven past her house.

Once Isabel got inside, she went straight to her room. A few minutes later, she heard a knock on her door. Max.

"It's open," Isabel called.

Max opened the door and came into her room. He seemed to be watching her carefully; Isabel didn't like being stared at like a science experiment.

"What?" She finally snapped, a bit too harshly.

"I was just wondering how everything went today," Max said quietly but with a hint of command in his tone.

Isabel looked at him through slightly narrowed eyes. That wasn't all that he wanted to know.

"And?" Isabel replied.

"And what?" Max asked, caught off-guard.

"And why didn't I come home right away? And what were the dreams about? I know you want to know Max. You should just ask," Isabel said with exasperation. The prospect of going over her entire day with her brother was exhausting. She hoped that her frank approach would make him feel guilty or uncomfortable for bothering her, and he'd just drop it.

"Well, since you brought it up..." No such luck tonight. "Why didn't you come home earlier? And what were the dreams about?" Max asked, trying not to sound too curious.

As much as she didn't want to talk, Isabel figured that Max deserved an explanation. He had been up at 3 a.m. last night, too, and he had seen the panic in her and Michael's faces. Her brother deserved to have a little peace of mind- to know that neither of them had seen visions of enemies lining up somewhere out there preparing to attack Roswell. That's probably what Max thought in the back of his mind; he worried even more than Isabel did.

"Well," Isabel began with a sigh, "I didn't get home right away because I stayed at Michael's apartment to get a little bit of sleep before leaving. And I cleaned the place up- I didn't think it was possible for someone to actually live in toxic waste."

"So, everything went okay?" Max asked, obviously not satisfied yet.

"Yeah. We talked; there isn't much to say," Isabel answered, still trying to avoid telling Max about the dreams.

Max looked at her and tilted his head slightly. He knew that she didn't want to share her dreams with him, but he needed to know. How was he supposed to make good decisions, and be a good leader, without enough information?

"What were the dreams about, Isabel?" Max asked in a steady voice, keeping his eyes on hers. Isabel looked away slightly.

"Our past."

"Our past…," Max repeated, anxious. "What did you see?"

"We saw a lot. Plants and trees and a huge, I don't know, palace?" Isabel paused, looking down. "And war."

Without speaking, Max walked towards the bed where Isabel was sitting.

"I'm alright, Max. Really. I mean it was scary, but I'm fine," Isabel tried to reassure her brother, who was clearly trying to assess how upset she was.

"But it was...upsetting at the time. I mean, seeing yourself die… It's over now." Isabel tried to brush it off.

"You saw yourself die? Oh my god, Isabel, why didn't you tell me last night? You're not going to forget that." Max's voice was raised, and Isabel was glad that her parents weren't home. She knew he wasn't angry at her for not telling him what had happened last night; he was scared.

"Max, it was terrifying. I know I won't ever forget what I saw, but last night I wasn't ready to talk about it. I'm still not ready. Can't you understand that?" Isabel asked, nearly whispering.

Max sighed. Of course he understood. It had been two months since the Special Unit had taken him, and he still wouldn't discuss it.

"Yeah, I get it, Iz. I'm just concerned." Max walked towards Isabel's door. "But if you have another dream, or if you want to talk, I'm just down the hall."

Isabel nodded and smiled slightly. "I know, Max. Good night."

"Good night, Isabel," Max said as he shut her door.

In spite of the horrific nature of the dreams and how bothered Isabel was, Max felt more settled knowing what the dreams were about. Still, he couldn't stop wondering about them. What was causing the dreams? Why were only Michael and Isabel having dreams of the past, not him and Tess? He didn't want to have dreams of Tess and their former life together, but he knew that memories could help him figure out what his role as leader meant and what he was supposed to do.

Leadership came naturally to Max, as did level-headed logic, but there was only so much that he could do without even knowing who he was the king of, who he was leading a war against, and what was expected of him. Until those questions were answered, there was no other course of action Max could condone but to simply aim for keeping everyone alive and under a low profile.

Isabel was glad that Max knew. She hadn't wanted to tell him, but she didn't want there to be any secrets between them either.

Lying down, Isabel thought about the feelings of change that her every-increasing alien knowledge brought. She remembered sitting in Max's room soon after Tess arrived and sharing her concerns with her brother. He, too, had been feeling the alien part of himself waking up. Had Michael or Tess had those feelings, as well? They must have.

A connection was made in Isabel's mind: Was that the reason Michael had been acting distracted lately? Was he worried about this unknown, unexplored part of himself forming? Michael had always prided himself on being so alien, but he didn't handle feelings well—especially new ones.

Isabel resolved to ask him about it, but not tonight. Tonight, she was looking forward to getting some— hopefully dreamless- rest.


	5. Chapter 5

Isabel opened her eyes and yawned. She'd had a dream, but she couldn't remember exactly what it was about. She remembered being in a warm, softly lit place. It was away from alien hunting FBI agents and enemies that had no name. Isabel couldn't tell whether she was remembering the location from her past life or if she was just imagining it. Looking at her alarm clock, Isabel saw that it was 9:30 a.m. Max was probably already up; he would need to leave for work in about an hour.

Walking into the kitchen, Isabel spied her brother eating a piece of toast and staring at the small television screen sitting before him on the counter. He looked as miserable as always. Sometimes, when Max was really upset, Isabel could physically feel his pain; she could now. The hurt came in flashes or at night in dream fragments, but she was sure it was real. This morning, just being close to her brother caused a dull headache.

Hoping to cheer Max, Isabel sat down next to him and smiled brightly.

"Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Sure," Max replied, not bothering to look at her.

"Could you be any more enthusiastic?" Isabel asked in a sarcastic tone.

Max stared at her with dull eyes. Isabel sighed.

"Hey, Max, what do you say we have a fun, alien-only night? Tess is sleeping over, so why don't you invite Michael and...do guy stuff?" Isabel suggested, still painfully cheerful.

"Guy stuff?" Max asked with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah, you know. Whatever it is that you guys do when you're with each other. Hockey and…Playboys or something." Isabel looked hopefully at her brother.

"Playboys?" Max smiled slightly, but then sighed. He didn't want to see anyone. Tess was bad enough, though she seemed to have gotten a better grip on reality since their first encounters, but Michael? Sure, they were friends, and maybe it would do him some good; however, it was more likely that they would end up fighting.

Michael didn't always deal too well with authority figures, and even before the cave, Michael had looked at Max as the leader- though he'd never admit it. Now, Max was really, officially the king. Max and Michael's dissolving friendship reflected the shift.

Looking at Isabel, Max saw an almost hidden, desperate look in her eyes. He had seen it in Tess's eyes when they were at the theater, and in Michael's when Max ate at the Crashdown. He saw it when he looked in the mirror.

"Max, please?" Isabel asked, bringing her brother back to the conversation.

Max turned his head downward but let his eyes travel upwards to meet his sister's gaze.

"Alright, fine. But you can't say that it's my fault when Michael and I get into a fight and end up blowing the house away," Max said, getting up from his seat and walking to the front door.

Isabel half smiled. Then, the realization of how possible it was that they would, in fact, get into a fight and blow the house up took over. She began worrying, thinking of all the horrible possibilities. The panic eased when an image, unsummoned, popped into her mind. It was one of the scenes she had seen in her dreams: Max, Tess, Isabel, and Michael's former selves were all standing together on a balcony with a sea of green expanding before them. A ship, sinking and shimmering with distant fire, slowly disappeared from the horizon. Yet, Isabel felt no fear. The four of them were brought together for a reason- for strength, for comfort. Apart, they were weak and lost; the summer had taught Isabel that. Together, maybe they could be stronger.

The ringing of a telephone awoke a very tired, grumpy, unfocused alien. Michael tried to sit up, but he found this task extremely difficult and decided to lie back down again. The ringing continued, and he looked over at the hated device on his bedside table. For a moment, Michael would have liked nothing better than to just turn the telephone to dust.

What idiot was calling him, anyway? All of his friends, though few in number, knew Michael well enough not to call him on a Friday morning at 9:45 after he had been working a double shift at the Crashdown just the night before. Then again, a salesperson would have hung up already. Who was it? The curiosity began to bother him more than the ringing, compelling Michael to finally answer the phone.

"What?" Michael answered, sounding both groggy and annoyed.

"Michael?" A soft voice spoke on the other end of the line.

With a small jolt, Michael realized who it was, and he felt his heart beat faster. Why would Isabel call him unless there was some emergency?

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately, in a stronger, clearer voice than before.

"What makes you think something's wrong? Can't I just call up my good old friend Michael to see how he's been and what's new in his life?" Isabel lied to him terribly.

"No," Michael responded in a clipped tone. "We just saw each other yesterday. Why would anything be new?" Michael could practically see Isabel's face become disgusted with his lack of subtlety.

Isabel sighed. "Fine. Be a jerk. I have something that I want to ask you."

"I'm not a jerk. What is it?" Michael sounded annoyed.

"I want you to spend the night at my house, and yes you are," Isabel said with a vaguely proud, regal tone.

Michael's attention was suddenly focused. Isabel wanted him to spend the night at her house? Thoughts of the dreams they had shared, and a few daydreams that Michael had recently entertained, flooded Michael's mind. His face felt hot, his stomach dropped, his pulse quickened, and the back of his neck tingled.

Speaking in a thick, quiet voice that was barely recognizable, Michael finally gathered the nerve to question Isabel.

"You want me to spend the night at your house?"

Hearing Michael say it, Isabel realized how her statement sounded. She blushed and, embarrassed, thought about the same dreams Michael had. Surely he didn't think she wanted him to spend the night with her—that would be ridiculous. Yet, the thought didn't entirely repulse Isabel; rather, it made her heart beat faster and her head feel light. Isabel was frightened at her response.

"Isabel? Are you still there?" Michael asked, sounding far away.

"Huh? Yeah. I think that I might have misspoken. I would like you to spend the night at my house, along with Tess. I was thinking that maybe me, Max, you, and Tess should try to hang out and be friends. We need to be comfortable with one another if we want to find out anything else about our history and abilities," Isabel explained.

"You, Max, and I have all known each other for as long as any of us can remember. I don't know how much more comfortable we're gonna get with one another," Michael replied flippantly.

"I know, but Tess doesn't feel like she belongs. It's not just me, you, and Max anymore; with Tess's help and everything we've learned recently, we've all changed. We can't have stupid arguments and feel weird around one another if we want to live any kind of normal life or protect ourselves…or find our home. I think it'd be a good idea," Isabel finished quietly. "And Max agreed," she quickly added.

"Max agreed?" Michael asked, unbelieving.

"Yes," Isabel responded.

"Max and I aren't exactly getting along right now, y'know, Iz?"

"I know, but if this could make things better, isn't it worth a shot? Couldn't you just do this for me? Think of it as payment for cleaning your apartment," Isabel pleaded.

Michael sighed. Do this for me. She had to ask him to make a sacrifice in her name; she knew he would.

"Okay, okay. I'll come over tonight," he resigned.

"Thank you, Michael. You don't know how much I want us all to get along. I can't explain it, but I have this feeling—this urge- pushing me to keep the four of us together. I don't know if you know what it's like to want something so badly. I'll see you tonight at seven, all right? Don't be too late."

"Seven. Sounds good…and you owe me," Michael said flatly.

"Whatever. Bye," Isabel responded coolly but not unkindly. The click of a telephone being hung up sounded in the phone.

Something Isabel said lingered in Michael's mind: I don't know if you know what it's like to want something so badly. After last night, all Michael had wanted to do was go to Isabel. She obviously wasn't experiencing the same impulse, Michael thought with a pang of hurt. For brief moments, Michael sometimes thought he saw something in her eyes or heard a softness in her voice, but he knew his fleeting notion that Isabel shared his new feelings was wishful thinking. Hell, Michael wasn't sure what he felt; all of these new thoughts were probably just a celestial-spurred manipulation planned by sadistic aliens to drive him crazy. Still, Michael's emotions felt genuine and powerful…and familiar.

Michael didn't know what he had gotten himself into, but he hoped it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. A night at the Evans's house. Ugh- a night of fighting with Max and being confused about Isabel. At least there was Tess. Tess had become a friend of his; she understood his need to find home and to have a family. Michael hadn't mentioned it yet, but he knew she would sympathize with his growing confusion over Isabel. It was nice to have a friend on his side.

Isabel looked at herself in the mirror. A light, cottony white sundress clung loosely to her body. Her hair was up in a ponytail with a few wispy strands framing her face.

All day, Isabel had been anxious. She found tasks all over the house, cleaning and straightening things; it was all she could do to stay calm. When Max came home around 4 o'clock that evening and made fun of her rampage, Isabel put him to work, as well. By 6, Isabel realized there was nothing left to perfect- and that Max had been cleaning the same picture frame for fifteen minutes.

The doorbell rang, causing Isabel to jump. Scrambling out of her room, Isabel nearly ran to the front door. Opening it calmly, she smiled as she saw the short blonde before her. Tess's hair was in neat, pretty curls, and she wore a light blue dress with navy flowers on it and a pair of tan sandals. Isabel wondered how many times Tess had changed before coming over.

"Hey, Isabel! What's up?" Tess asked brightly.

"Hey! You look nice; I love that dress!" Isabel greeted her friend warmly.

"Thank you. Is Michael here yet?" Tess asked.

"No, not yet. But, he usually isn't on time," Isabel replied.

"Who isn't usually on time?" Michael asked, walking up the porch steps. Isabel smiled mischievously.

"Nobody. We weren't talking about anybody or anything," Tess answered, teasing.

Michael looked between the two girls and kept a deceptively confused expression on his face. He took in the scene before him and thought about how cute Isabel looked when she was caught off-guard. Cute? Michael gave himself a mental slap for even thinking that.

"What's going on?" Max's voice came from behind the three at the door.

"Michael's being mean," Isabel replied and flashed a playful smile.

Max started to say 'Already?' but thought better of it.

"Oh. That's all," Max replied without enthusiasm.

Isabel sighed.

"Come in, you two," Isabel directed gently.

Michael and Tess walked through the door. All four of the aliens stood by the door and stared quietly at anything but one another.

"I ordered pizza a little while ago, and there are some rented movies," Isabel said, trying to break the uneasy silence.

"That sounds great," Tess cheerfully spoke.

"Yeah," Michael gave a little nod.

"Let's go find a movie to watch," Max suggested, already turning to walk toward the living room.

Once in the living room, Isabel shuffled through the movies.

"Okay, we've got action, horror, mystery, romance, comedy- everything. What do you guys want to watch?" Isabel asked, standing in front of the couch where Max and Michael sat at opposite ends.

"Why don't we go with a comedy first, Iz?" Max stated more than asked.

Looking at the others and receiving a round of noncommittal nods, Isabel started the movie. As the two girls walked to the couch, they realized that the sitting arrangement could potentially be very awkward. Maybe that was a good thing; maybe it was necessary. With that in mind, Isabel sat down quickly next to Michael, leaving Tess to sit between Isabel and Max.

Michael's breath caught in his throat at the unexpected contact of Isabel's arm against his. Trying to stay calm, he sighed. It was going to be a long night.

[Author's note: There will be one more chapter added soon that was included in my original version of the story that was drafted years ago. I left this story a work in progress, but I am considering finishing it now. Reviews would be greatly appreciated! =)]


	6. Chapter 6

"You cheater! You liar! You…there isn't a word awful enough!"

Isabel was mad. No, Isabel was livid. Absolutely livid. Michael internally admired how she always looked so lively when mad.

"I did not cheat!" Michael defended himself, faking offense.

"There were five aces in one deck! In _your_ hand!"

"I'm a lucky guy," Michael replied smugly.

"Oh, I'm going to-"

"Nobody's going to do anything, and you both know it," Tess interrupted them good-naturedly. "God, the two of you sound like an old married couple."

"Like we'd ever get married," Michael quickly said.

"For once, I agree with Michael," Isabel added. "You think I'd marry him?"

"Excuse me? I happen to be quite a catch, thank you very much," Michael retorted. Then, after a moment, "Why wouldn't you marry me?"

"Well, there are a lot of reasons. Your clothes, your hair..." Isabel smiled.

"What the hell is wrong with my hair?"

"Oh, Michael, so many thing," Isabel answered with false sweetness.

Max smiled at Michael's frustrated expression.

"Maybe we should quit playing cards before things start exploding," Tess suggested, looking directly at Michael.

"Yeah, it's getting late anyway. I think it's time for me to go to bed," Max told the others as he stood.

"Yeah, sure," Michael agreed.

"Come on, Tess, we can change in my room." Isabel said, standing.

"Ok, good night, guys!" Tess smiled at Max.

"Good night, Tess," Max answered, smiling slightly back.

Michael looked between Tess and Max. Sure, there was absolutely nothing there. Michael didn't doubt that Max loved Liz, but he also wasn't a fool. Tess could be gratingly persistent, but she could also be warm and kind. If they started having the kind of dreams that Michael and Isabel had, it would only be a matter of time before they were making Nasedo proud. Michael figured that it would probably be for the best if they did; Max and Liz, Roswell's own Romeo and Juliet, would only end up hurting one another more. Likewise, while Maria was a great girl, Michael knew that he couldn't love her the way that she needed to be loved. She needed Prince Charming or at least that guy from _Titanic. _If Michael had been on the Titanic, he would've been one of the nameless schmucks shoveling coal, trying to keep the ship afloat. Maria deserved more than he could give her; she would always be kept at arm's length with him.

Still pensive, Michael looked up and saw Isabel standing in front of him, cards in her hands.

"Here's your deck, cheater." She smiled at Michael's surprised look. Isabel turned and strode down toward her bedroom.

"See you tomorrow," Isabel called over her shoulder as she walked away.

Michael watched her, admiring her smooth gait and womanly form. When did that happen? He didn't remember her becoming a woman.

"Yeah, tomorrow," he replied in a whisper with a strangely recognizable sense of awe and wanting. He really wasn't sure what it was exactly that he wanted, but it was painfully becoming clearer.

Max watched Michael staring blankly after his sister. This was not good. Max thought they had all decided their destinies would be ignored, that they would do what they wanted to do and not what some book made of alien stone dictated. Max hadn't considered the possibility that what the four aliens wanted to do and what they were meant to do could possibly coincide. He sighed in frustration, catching Michael's attention.

"Max, you ok?" Michael asked.

"Fine. Just tired, I guess," Max answered, still distracted.

"What's up, Maxwell?" Michael questioned, knowing Max was too deep in thought for his own good.

"Nothing. I was just thinking."

"About what?" Michael pressed.

"Nothing important, just...stuff," Max answered, not wanting to start an awkward conversation that could easily end up as an argument. It had been a good night so far.

"Oh...stuff."

While self-restraint was normally not Michael's strength, the possibility that Max had been thinking about his stay with the government a few months before or Michael and Isabel's latest dreams encouraged Michael to let Max's non-answer slide.

"Let's just go upstairs and get some sleep," Max said, already walking to his room with Michael following.

"What color do you think my nails should be? I was thinking red," Isabel asked, inspecting her fingers.

"You've worn red a lot lately, haven't you?" Tess asked, carefully taking one of Isabel's hands in her own.

"Yeah. Why?" Isabel asked, studying Tess's expression.

"Maybe you should try something new. Something like...this…" Tess said, then passed her hand over Isabel's.

"That's a great color. I wouldn't have picked it out, but it works." Isabel smiled at her now dark sandy-peach colored nails.

"You're welcome." Tess smiled at her friend's praise and did Isabel's other hand.

"I'm exhausted. Are you tired, Tess?"

"Very. Is there a sleeping bag somewhere I could use?"

Isabel looked at Tess in surprise.

"You are not sleeping on the floor. You'll sleep in bed with me; there's more than enough room. I'm not letting my friend sleep on the ground."

"Thank you." Tess sounded soft, sincere. "I've never really had friends before. It's nice to consider you and Max and Michael my friends...maybe my family."

Isabel hated to think of Tess being alone for so long. She may have had the benefit of knowing more about their past from Nasedo, but Isabel always had Max and Michael. Though the three of them had always been different, they had been given the small luxury of being different together. Max and Michael had reservations about Tess when they first found out she was the fourth alien, but Isabel wanted to let Tess know she wasn't alone and bring her into their group.

Isabel and Tess got into bed, and Isabel turned out the light. The two girls lay in the darkness for a few minutes, before Tess broke the silence with a question.

"Isabel?" Tess whispered quietly.

"Yes?" Isabel answered.

"Do you remember our past?"

Isabel opened her eyes, suddenly very awake. She hadn't yet told Tess about the new dreams.

"I've been having dreams. They just started; I've never remembered anything before," Isabel nervously answered.

"Is that why we're all here tonight?" Tess asked.

"I don't know. I like us being here together. I have this feeling that we need one another...that we shouldn't be too far apart," Isabel replied candidly.

"Good," Tess answered simply.

"Good?" Isabel asked, curiosity and caution in her voice.

"Your alien side is starting to balance with your human side. Fight it and you'll end up driving yourself insane."

Isabel considered Tess's nonchalant yet loaded response carefully.

"Why would I fight it?" Isabel asked.

"Because it means that your human side, the part you've always known, will stop being the only force driving you. Your instincts will guide you, and it'll be hard for you to trust yourself. Changes are always hard to accept—for humans and for us," Tess said with a certainty that made her seem much more knowledgeable than Isabel had thought.

"What if my instincts are wrong?" Isabel asked, a note of desperation apparent.

"They won't be. When it comes time to make decisions, it won't matter how much you look like a human or that you were raised as one. All that matters is who you really are, who you once were," Tess replied, then paused. "Who you are meant to be."

Isabel felt a connection with Tess. It went beyond the normal ties of friendship; there was something electric about it. Isabel remembered the dreams she and Michael had of their past and how she had connected with him in the same strange way, though with greater intensity. It was almost primal.

A quiet but firm voice in the back of Isabel's head spoke. "Not primal, Vilandra- instinctual. You were just discussing this, weren't you?"

Isabel shook her head. It was too late at night for this.

"Hey, Max?" Michael asked from the floor next to Max's bed.

"Yeah?" Max sounded sleepy.

"Do you want to bang Tess?" Michael asked, already smiling in the dark.

"What? Tess? We're barely friends. I love Liz; she and I are meant to be together, not me and Tess. Destiny is nothing." Max sounded less certain of his words than he had in the past, but he spoke them with conviction nonetheless.

"I don't know," Michael responded, clearly trying to rile Max. "You and Tess seemed to be getting a little friendlier. Maybe the _two of you_ are meant to-"

"Don't. Whatever was true for us in our past isn't necessarily true now. Besides, I thought you didn't believe in destiny."

"I don't," Michael said, shifting from teasing to defensive. "What if you did end up liking Tess? Would you stay away from her just to make a point?"

Max was quiet for a moment.

"Does this have anything to do with Isabel?" Max asked, surprising Michael.

"No. Why?"

"Tonight it seemed like the two of you were closer than you have been in a long time. You've been having dreams together, and now you're giving me a speech about Tess and destiny." Max looked over the edge of his bed and eyed Michael the best he could in the dark room.

"There's nothing going on between me and Isabel. I was giving you a hard time about Tess. Believe it or not, seeing you miserable all the time isn't fun for any of us—not even me."

Michael looked up at Max from the floor challengingly. Max finally laid back down on his bed.

"I wasn't trying to presume anything. It's just been a long day," Max half apologized.

"S'okay."

After a few moments, Max heard Michael laughing on the floor.

"What now?" Max asked.

"We've been in the same house for five hours and nobody's bleeding yet. We haven't even threatened each other."

Max smiled his normal, faint smile and settled into bed again.

"Good night, Michael," Max said, a sense of relaxation unexpectedly coming over him.

"Night, Max," Michael replied. For the first time in months, Michael went to bed feeling comfortable in his friendship with Max.

[Author's Note: This is the point where my original story stopped. I'm not sure if I should continue, so if anyone is reading and enjoying this story, let me know in the reviews! Maybe if I get an encouraging response, the fic will be continued =)]


	7. Chapter 7

***NOTE: New material! If I were to title this chapter, it would likely be called, "A Rebellious Interlude." Just a hint ;-) I hope none of my fellow Cliffies are too disappointed in the lighter Mi/I focus this chapter. Also, thank you to everyone who has reviewed! It is so, SO encouraging to see a few people say they enjoy my story!

Tess woke to a feeling of encompassing warmth. Beside her, Isabel peacefully slept. In spite of the icy blast of air-conditioning, sunlight beamed golden light through Isabel's window, warming Tess's face. Tess guessed it was still fairly early to be rising after such a late night, but she felt well-rested. She disliked sleeping late, anyhow. Gingerly lifting herself from the bed, Tess stretched slowly and smiled at the comforting quiet of the Evans house. She slipped out of the room and into the restroom down the hall.

Teeth brushed, Tess applied her makeup and fixed her hair with a few waves of her hand. Admiring her reflection, Tess felt she looked ready to face the day, along with any brooding, athletically-built aliens it might bring. Leaving the bathroom, Tess heard only silence and, embarrassingly, a slight grumble sounding from her stomach. Tess realized she had a great opportunity to help—and, admittedly, maybe impress- her friends with a surprise breakfast. Excited to have a project, Tess bounced to the kitchen. However, the sight of Max, slumped over the counter with his head resting on his arms and a small television playing in front of him, caused Tess to halt in the doorway. Max looked up, surprised.

"Morning, Tess."

Tess's heart fluttered girlishly at the sound of her name coming from his mouth. She tried to appear cool but couldn't help smiling a tad too brightly.

"Good morning, Max," she answered. "You're up awful early."

Max glanced at the clock.

"It's 9:30. I don't like wasting the day."

How very kingly, Tess thought.

"Me neither," she agreed. "What are you watching?" She gestured toward the tiny television set.

Almost smiling, Max looked away and responded, "Don't laugh…old episodes of _Bewitched._"

Tess's laughter strained against her ever-widening grin as she nodded and said, "Good choice. I expected sports or wrestling or something, but _Bewitched_ is very manly, too."

A small, genuine smile broke Max's normally gloomy aura, and he looked as though he were on the verge of blushing. Tess felt her heart beat rising from her chest to her throat.

"I blame Isabel," Max responded, deadpan but clearly amused.

"I'll buy that," Tess replied with an unintentionally flirtatious grin.

Max returned her smile until, his countenance visibly shifting, a flash of shame crossed his features. He looked down at the countertop, swept away a few invisible crumbs, and fixed his gaze back on the television screen.

Tess, sensing his withdrawal, gave a single resigned nod at the scene before her and walked quickly to the refrigerator. She opened the door and felt a wave of cold air cloud around her as she reached in and removed a carton of eggs, milk, and a small block of cheddar cheese. Bustling around the kitchen, Tess gathered pans, instant pancake mix, and a few spoons and bowls for mixing. Though she made a point to refrain from glancing at Max, Tess could swear she felt his eyes occasionally settle upon her before darting quickly back to the safety of the TV.

Eggs frying in one pan and half-baked globs of pancake mix bubbling on the griddle next to it, Tess imagined herself to be a master chef. Clearly, only the finest cooks could prepare scrambled eggs and instant pancakes, she silently deprecated herself. Even if Max didn't appreciate her culinary talents, she knew Isabel and Michael would.

Tess smiled excitedly thinking of the surprise on Isabel's face and Michael's likely restrained yet approving reaction. Flipping the pancakes to reveal a golden brown side opposite the still pasty white one, Tess dropped the spatula on the counter and began striding purposefully toward the doorway; before Tess could reach the hall, Max called out to her, causing her to stop mid-step.

"What's wrong?" Tess asked, concerned yet inexplicably thrilled.

"Are you going to wake Isabel and Michael up?"

"That's the plan."

"I can do it," Max said in a tone suggesting his offer was more of a question than an order—a rare quality in Max's voice. "I mean, Isabel isn't always a morning person, and Michael….well…," Max trailed off, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips but not reaching his eyes.

"Oh, yeah. Sure, I'd appreciate it," Tess answered. There was no way Tess would reject Max's offer; if he was willing to make an effort, even in a small, proud way, she would respond with nothing less than gratitude. One of them had to be flexible.

"Okay, I'll have them down soon," Max said as he rose from his chair and walked toward the hallway. Speaking quietly over his shoulder, Max added, "It's too bad I already ate; it smells good."

As Max headed to wake the two sleeping teens, Tess paused, staring after him. Both content and eager, Tess felt her chest tighten with sudden exhilaration. Tess sensed how unfair the situation was—how much of a disadvantage she was at—yet realized she could not give up as long as Max's every small gesture filled her with spontaneous, unbridled electricity. She realized Max likely would never feel for her as he once did, as his former self had, but she could not imagine her life without him now that she had found him. A past life together and a present life filled with unrealized hopes and dreams could not be easily forgotten. Really, though, she could not imagine her life without Max, Isabel, or Michael. The feeling of security beginning to grow around them was comforting, and the possibility Max would eventually remember their past and behave as the books and Nasedo predicted gave the girl a surplus of hope. Thoughtful, Tess continued cooking.

Max gently turned the knob on Isabel's bedroom door and quietly entered the room. He seated himself carefully on the edge of the bed. Max brushed Isabel's arm with the back of his hand.

"Isabel….Isabel….Iz….," Max stage whispered Isabel's name in an attempt to wake his sleeping sister. "It's time to get up."

Isabel's eyes blinked half-open. Isabel glanced around her room and frowned at Max.

"What?"

"It's time to get up."

Isabel looked at the clock on her bedside table.

"No, it's not. It's time to sleep," Isabel affirmed as she pulled her blanket more snugly against her.

Max's eyes lit up as a smile formed on his face. He suddenly looked near laughter.

"What is so funny?" Isabel found nothing humorous about the situation and was too tired to appreciate her brother's rare moment of genuine delight.

"Do you remember when we were in middle school? Mom told us we were old enough to get ourselves ready for school. Once we were up, you were in charge, but I had to make sure you didn't hit the snooze button too many times. I guess some things never change."

Isabel smiled in spite of her weary irritation.

"The only time you ever got up before me was Christmas morning," Max laughed at the memory.

"Priorities," Isabel replied with fake haughtiness.

"Right, priorities."

The siblings sat in reminiscent silence for a moment while mentally revisiting memories of middle school and Christmas mornings that began well before sunrise.

"Tess made breakfast." Max broke the fragile spell.

"I didn't know she could cook," Isabel absently responded. "Can she cook?" She asked, now envisioning burnt toast and rubbery egg whites.

"I don't know. Looked like it."

"It's nice of her, anyway. She tries really hard, y'know?"

"I know," Max sounded vaguely exasperated now, as he sensed a lecture on the virtues of Tess Harding forming in Isabel's mind.

"No, you don't know," Isabel corrected her brother. "You spend too much time running away from her to know. It's your loss."

Max felt somewhat stung by Isabel's brusque tone.

"You know how I feel," he civilly told Isabel.

"I know. I'm not mad. Why would I be? Like I said, it's your loss. Maybe one day you'll stop being so paranoid and just be her friend."

"We're kind of friends…"

Isabel stared at him clearly not believing his claim.

"Acquaintances," she corrected. "If we keep working together, though—you, me, Tess, and Michael—you could be friends. We all could be friends again." Isabel paused. "Didn't you have fun last night?"

Max realized Isabel wasn't trying to push Tess on him; she was trying to cement whatever bonding had occurred the night before. He felt guilty for assuming the worst of his sister.

"Yeah. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be."

Isabel rolled her eyes at Max's pessimism.

"I would do it again," Max added. "You know—all of us spend time together. I would do it again."

Isabel looked suspiciously at Max.

"Seriously? Or are you just trying to get on my good side?"

"Seriously. Maybe not today, but soon," Max confirmed, then added, "I didn't know I wasn't on your good side."

Though she tried to keep her feelings guarded, Max could tell his sister was happy, perhaps relieved.

"Max," she said in a theatrically loud exhale, "don't think I will cut you any slack, even if you are my brother."

"Thanks, Isabel," Max flatly responded. "Better hurry up and get downstairs. Tess will come looking for you."

Isabel nodded.

"She's such a…morning person. Ugh…."

Max rose from his position on the bed and walked to the door. In the doorway, he turned to look at Isabel and said, "Wish me luck waking Michael up."

"You're waking up Michael before 11 on a weekend?" Isabel sounded almost shocked. "He's going to kill you."

"Probably."

"I'll come with you!" Isabel threw her covers off in a swift, fluid motion and followed Max down the hall to his bedroom where Michael still slumbered on the floor.

"Michael," Max firmly yet kindly called.

"Michael….Mii-cchhaeellll…..." Isabel sing-songed teasingly.

Michael stirred on the floor; he rolled onto his side and threw a sheet over his head.

Max and Isabel exchanged amused glances. Isabel proceeded into the room and knelt down by Michael's still form.

"Michael….get up. Come on…Michael….Michael….," she called to no response. "There's food."

The sheet dropped to underneath Michael's chin.

"What kind of food?" he groggily asked.

Max grinned discretely behind Isabel.

"The kind you eat," Isabel sarcastically answered. The sheet began to be pulled back over Michael's head, so Isabel added, "Tess made it. She wanted to surprise us with breakfast."

Michael stopped, sighed, and rolled onto his back once again. He stared at the ceiling and wondered what the universe had against him sleeping. The scent of something baking wafted across the room.

"Are there pancakes?"

Isabel looked to Max for an answer. He nodded.

"Yes," she chirped, "with maple syrup and Tabasco."

Michael sighed once more.

"I'm coming," he said, his eyes remaining closed.

Isabel stood and stretched a hand out to Michael.

"Come _on_," she urged.

He stared up at her. Though Michael was glowering, his brow set in a stern line over his eyes, the thought that he felt happy to see Isabel even at this ungodly hour of the morning flickered through Michael's mind. He reached his hand out to meet Isabel's and let her half-drag him to a sitting position and, after much over-dramatic sighing and Michael's eventual cooperation, to his feet.

He felt creepy for thinking it, but Michael realized how much he liked the feeling of Isabel's hand. What did girls do to make their skin so soft? Michael figured there was probably some secret girl-potion all chicks slathered themselves in to become silkier and more touchable than guys'. It probably smelled like vanilla or cookies or pumpkin pie, too—comforting and enticing at the same time. Women are devious like that.

Michael followed Isabel out of the room, sneaking a glance at the reverse view of his friend. Leaving the room, he caught Max's eye; Michael wondered if he was less crafty in his checking-out skills than he thought.

Refusing to wait and find out if Max would say anything, Michael blurted, "You help Tess?"

Max seemed surprised by the question.

"No. I was watching TV."

"Oh. Moral support."

"Something like that."

As the young men left the room, Max gave his friend a somewhat confused if not good-natured nod, and Michael patted Max on the shoulder in return.

"Always a team player, Maxwell, always a team player."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Note: The second new chapter. Enjoy!

Fire-red clouds bloodied the sky. From the window of her private sitting room, Vilandra watched the horizon. The fields were clear for now, but she doubted they would remain peaceful much longer. The advanced warfare, ships flying low and organized fleets taking to the sea, was waged far from the palace; the closer the fighting inched toward the capital, the more brutal and personal it became. Vilandra expected to see the fields between the palace and city littered with bodies if peace wasn't soon returned. The ground fighting in the villages saw Antarians resort to the old methods of war: Villagers refused the new technologies and used only their hands and minds to combat the Skins. A flicker of green light flitted across the horizon, though its source was too far for Vilandra to detect. She suspected Skin insurgents had invaded the small circle of homes previously belonging to council members. Their homes in the capital city were deserted now, but Vilandra knew displaced civilians sometimes occupied the homes illegally. Nausea rose in Vilandra's stomach.

"Princess?"

Vilandra turned to Larek. She had almost forgotten his presence.

"Princess, I really must insist you listen. This may be the only chance you and your family have to—"

"Larek," Vilandra began, "I've listened to you. I've listened to my parents. I've listened to the specialists. I won't object any longer."

"Oh." Larek's eyes widened in surprise. He had begun to think Vilandra would never submit to the council's suggestion- not that the council was much of a force in Antar anymore. The few remaining members' power was rooted in the shreds of tradition held by the royal family. With Vilandra's cooperation, Rath would certainly agree now.

"That's a very wise choice. I wouldn't recommend this course of action to you—or your brother—if I didn't believe it was worth the risks involved."

Vilandra smiled at Larek. It was a gentle, sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. She trusted Larek implicitly; he was a second brother to her. He meant her no harm.

"We'll begin today. Time is running short," Vilandra said.

Larek wondered what Vilandra knew, but he did not ask.

"Yes, Princess, I'll tell them you've decided to proceed. Your brother will be very happy. He wouldn't like me telling you this, but he's been worried you wouldn't join him. He didn't want to go without you. He would, but he wouldn't want to."

Vilandra nodded.

"I sensed his concern. He has enough troubles without worrying about me; go and put his mind to rest."

Larek turned to leave.

"And Larek?"

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

"I've told you for years to quit calling me Princess. When will you stop?"

A sorrowful grin curving his mouth, Larek replied, "Maybe in your next life, Princess."

Vilandra turned back to her window. The door behind her thudded shut as Larek left. Today, Vilandra would begin the process to ensure her current life, in its precarious position, would not be her last. They would find the human who could best match Vilandra's alien form. The specialists theorized the transition would be easier if the alien and human forms were similar, though Vilandra knew some thought this theory ridiculous. When the physical form was crafted, the long, painful process of transferring memories would begin. Vilandra, Zan, Ava, and Rath would transmit their entire catalogue of life experiences to the small organisms growing in the incubation pods. They had performed the process once before, only months ago in fact, but a genetic mutation—a freak coincidence—unfavorably altered the hybrids. The specialists wanted to try again.

The door to the room opened once more, and Talak, Chief Palace Specialist, entered the room. In his hands was a small disc.

"Princess Vilandra, I have something for you to see."

He approached her, his gait slow due to his very advanced age.

"Larek informed me of your decision. The King, your brother, hoped you would acquiesce. As you know, the blood of all the royal family members is on file in the laboratory…" Talak paused. "Well, we have run your samples and once again feel the original human subjects are fitting. The mutation that occurred last time was pure chance; we feel confident it will not happen again."

Vilandra stared silently at the man, neither approval nor disdain apparent on her features.

"We also have a new request. We think it may be easier for you—all of you—to complete the transfer procedure if you had an image of who you were attempting to transfer to."

Vilandra drew a deep, frustrated breath.

"I've seen the pods. I know what I'm communicating with."

"No, not the pods. Those are only temporary. I'm speaking of the human form you will take. If you can picture her, the transferral might be less tiring."

"That sounds rather far-fetched…but I know my brother will not let me rest until I do as you suggest."

Talak's unease was apparent, but he walked closer to Vilandra and held the disc up in the opened palm of his hand. White light cascaded from the disc into the open air of the sitting room, like a projector casting light on a screen. The light configured itself, revealing a human form. A tall, blonde woman appeared before Vilandra. She could tell the woman was beautiful by human standards, and she sensed something of herself in the proud set of the woman's shoulders. Vilandra stared into the figure's eyes. She memorized the set of the nose, the arch of the brow, the curve of the waist. Maybe the specialists were right.

"What do you think?" Talak broke the silence.

"I approve of her. You've done well."

Talak's anxiety visibly lightened.

"I have a question, one that has weighed heavily on my mind since we began the last procedure."

"Ask anything. I want your mind at ease when we begin," Talak encouraged.

Vilandra continued staring at the hologram, not yet speaking. She wanted to phrase her question carefully.

"How can I be sure she will remember everything? She will have some of my blood, yes, but she will not grow up as I have. How can you be certain she will know everything I've learned and felt what I've felt? Are these not the things that make us who we are?"

Talak shook his head.

"We cannot know. We can only hope and try our best. We will send information with them in a guide book, and Nasedo has been appointed as their protector. He will remember all. She will be with the other three, too, and what she forgets, they can remind her of. I admit, she will not be you as you are now; she will grow and have experiences of her own on Earth. She will not be reliving your life but, rather, continuing it."

Vilandra remained transfixed on the light image before her, but she heard all Talak said. She could accept his explanation even if it did not comfort her as much as she would have liked. A long moment passed.

"Princess? I'm afraid I need to return to the laboratory. There is much to be done."

"Yes, you're right. Go back," Vilandra said, ripping her gaze from the woman's image.

Talak wrapped his hand back around the disk, and the light vanished. He hoped the image had given the princess some peace.

"I will remember them, won't I?" Vilandra asked suddenly. "My family and Rath….I will remember them at least, yes?"

Talak wished he could promise her she would. He wished he could swear she would not be alone in her next life, but he knew there were too many chance occurrences which could interfere with the specialists' plans for successful hybrid growth and memory retrieval. Vilandra, who had stood before her people as the paradigm of Antarian beauty and strength, now looked at him as though he held her life in his hands. Glancing at the disk, he realized he did.

"Yes," he lied. "You will recognize them and remember them. Don't worry yourself."

Having heard what she wanted, Vilandra's face flooded with relief.

"Thank you, Talak."

"No need to thank me, Princess. It is my duty to serve you," Talak said as he turned and left the room.

Vilandra looked back out her window and saw more green flashes. Peace was not near. Though doubtful of Talak's words, she was glad her future was secured. The royal family would not survive the war.

Isabel's eyes opened wide, but she quickly squinted at the blinding rays of sunlight. The darkening eastern sky revealed the sun would soon set, but, for now, the New Mexico sun still beat down heavily over the cliff faces. She sat up slowly, holding one hand to her dizzy head. The others were waking, as well. Max, to her left, was already sitting and staring off into the distance. Michael, to her right, had his eyes opened but was making no move to sit or stand. Tess, across from Isabel, was just coming out of the meditation. The desert air was hot around them, but a steady light breeze kept the temperature from feeling suffocating.

"Are you okay, Isabel?" Max asked.

"Yeah…just waiting for the world to stop spinning."

"It will," he replied. "What did you see?"

Isabel shrugged.

" A ….I don't know…. a scientist, maybe? A scientist was talking to me—her—about making us. The four of us. We agreed to it, but we thought we would remember everything. We all wanted to stay together."

Max looked from Isabel back out to the expansive desert landscape around them.

"What about you?" Max asked Michael, who was still lying on the ground. 

Max looked tense. Isabel hoped he had not seen their deaths; she hoped only she and Michael would have to suffer those dreams.

"Michael, what did you see?" Max inquired again.

Michael did not answer immediately, and Isabel began to wish Max hadn't asked.

"We did this to get answers, didn't we?" Max pushed.

"If it's so damn important, I saw my mother," Michael snapped. "I had a mother and a brother, and they loved me. We were eating dinner. I told them about Isa—Vilandra. I told them we were getting hitched, and they told me they loved us both. They said she was part of the family. My family. That's what I saw. Happy?"

Max remained calm but Isabel could see his regret.

"What about you? I think it's your turn to share, Max," Michael barked, his tone teetering on fury.

"A wedding."

"_A_ wedding?" Michael asked, pushing Max to specify.

"My wedding. _His _wedding to Ava."

Isabel knew she should intervene before Michael let his questions push Max beyond tension to anger, but she didn't know how to without escalating the argument.

"Your wedding to Tess? How did that make you feel? Let me guess—you were pining away after a journal-keeping servant and didn't give a damn what your wife did."

Isabel cringed. She hated when Michael pulled the Liz card; it was the fastest way to get under Max's skin. Max sat silently. His expression remained blank, but his eyes blazed with rage.

"Michael, that's not fair," Isabel pleaded. "Max didn't know what you saw. He shouldn't have pushed it, but he didn't know. We both know Zan loved Ava."

"Maybe," Michael responded, refusing to back down.

"He did," Tess affirmed. She was now sitting upright and looking more clear-headed. "I saw them at a party. A political party. Khivar—the leader of the Skins—was there. It was before the war but after the wedding." Tess sounded distant as she related her vision. "We danced," she said, looking at Max.

"They danced," Max returned without missing a beat. Tess looked stricken.

"No, Max," Isabel corrected. "They are part of us, and we are part of them. I saw it. We have our own experiences and our own thoughts, but we have theirs, too. Somewhere in our heads, we have their thoughts and feelings. We will keep remembering them; we can't escape it. There isn't an 'us' and a 'them' anymore."

Max did not respond to Isabel's assertion, but Isabel could tell her brother remained unconvinced.

"Yes," Tess said, her eyes hopeful again. "Yes, that's what I've been trying to tell you. We can't hide from who we are."

Isabel wished Tess would stay out of the conversation. Tess's comments only pushed Max further away.

"I agree," Michael's voice startled Isabel. "I don't know about us being destined to do anything or be anyone, but whoever's memories are in my head is not a stranger. He saw things like I would see them, and he did things the way I would. He's not a different guy…he's me. I just can't remember everything he did."

"So, since you and this guy have some things in common, you're the same person?" Max sounded incredulous. "We don't even know these are really memories! Tess can make people see things that aren't there; how do we know someone isn't sending us these thoughts to manipulate us?"

"Max, I can make people see things, but I can't make people feel things. Didn't you feel anything?"

Max looked at Tess with hard eyes.

"Anyone would feel sad if they had a dream about someone dying, and anyone would feel in love if they had a dream about their wedding."

"That's not true," Isabel said, barely above a whisper. "You know it's not true."

Max looked from Tess to Isabel. He stared at her, and Isabel recognized a mix of challenge and uncertainty on his face. She realized the source of his confusion: He knew the memories were real, but he was not ready for them.

For a moment, Isabel wondered if it had been a good idea to come to the desert. Things had been going so smoothly in the two weeks since Tess and Michael had spent the night at the Evans home. Michael and Max hadn't fought once, and Max had begun joining Isabel and Tess more often. It was on a quiet night at the Crashdown, Michael manning the grill and Max and Isabel sipping on cherry Coke while picking at a plate of Saturn rings, that Tess came bounding in, all excitement and bouncing curls. She walked directly toward Max and Isabel while catching Michael's eye to wave him over. The four of them hunkered down in the booth as Tess shared Nasedo's words: There was a way to remember. There were meditations to draw memories. They would go to the desert and sit in the square formation. Hands together, sharing energy, they would clear their minds and focus only on the feeling of the energy. Soon, memories would come as dreams.

Today was the third time they had tried. The first session resulted mostly in fragments of memories; the second brought larger chunks of memories that flowed together. This time, the memories were whole, linear stories, like Isabel's and Michael's unsummoned dreams. Isabel didn't want to stop now because of Max and Michael's tempers.

"This doesn't change anything. We're the same as we've always been, and we still don't know enough to protect ourselves." Max looked around the square at Isabel's concerned face, Michael's stern expression, and Tess's hopeful yet heartbroken gaze. "But, if these are our memories, there has to be something useful. We should keep trying."

Tess's lips turned up in a small smile, and Isabel let her shoulders slump in relief.

"We've done enough today. Let's head back." Max stood and began walking back toward the jeep, leaving the others trailing behind.

"That's what Zan would have done. It's the right choice, not the easy one," Tess said, her voice full of admiration.

Michael exhaled sharply, his frustration still apparent. When he spoke, his voice dripped with sarcasm.

"All hail the king."

Isabel shot him a reproachful look but could not muster enough disapproval to scold him. His anger was understandable. Instead, she patted him on the back and tried to suppress the feeling of comfort she derived from the small contact.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

That night, Isabel craved nothing more than sleep. She felt as though her entire summer had been one long struggle, and Max and Michael's earlier argument pushed Isabel from weary to exhausted. She laid down and tried to clear her mind; within minutes, Isabel felt herself settling heavily into her bed and drifting off. However, a sharp knock at Isabel's window startled her back to consciousness. Beyond the glass stood Michael.

Isabel heaved a sigh as she rose and walked to the window.

Opening it, Isabel asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Can't a guy go see a friend without there being something wrong?" Michael asked, his words coming out in rapid succession.

"Not you, not me, and not at midnight," Isabel answered.

Michael seemed tense. He tapped his fingers on the windowsill in an erratic beat and shifted his gaze across the room nervously.

"What is it?" Isabel pressed.

Michael stopped his tapping and pressed his lips tightly together for a moment before speaking.

"You said you saw a scientist who explained the memory thing. Is that all you saw?"

Isabel's curiosity piqued.

"Yes, that's it. A scientist and some guy….Larek, maybe? He was there, too, but he was just a friend of the family or an advisor or something. Why?"

Michael looked dissatisfied.

"There's something I should show you, but I only know one way to do this, and you're not gonna like it."

Isabel looked confused. "What do you want to show me? And what am I not going to like? Quit being so cryptic, Michael! Just tell me wha—"

Isabel's rant was cut short as Michael reached one arm through the open window and placed it under the side of Isabel's jaw and leaned forward. The distance between them quickly closed, and Isabel felt Michael's lips pressed against her own. After the initial wave of heart-stopping adrenaline gave way to coherent thought, Isabel felt sheer panic. What was going on? Why was this happening? Was this real?

Her thoughts were cut off, however, by the first in a series of flashing images. Like a slideshow flying by at light speed, pictures flew through Isabel's head. Realizing Michael's intention, Isabel forced herself to focus. An older woman with steel-grey skin but glowing eyes. Her hugging Rath. Rath's mother? Michael's mother?

Another older woman, this one a near-brass gold, stood tall and proud with a crown of exotic blossoms on her head. The same golden woman sitting at a table with the gray woman. They sat together, laughing and drinking. Isabel forced the picture to expand, and she realized Rath and Vilandra were there, too. A party. Their engagement party. Their mothers!

The image of her mother—her real mother in her alien form—sent Isabel reeling, and she jerked away. She stumbled away from the window and dropped to her bed, legs too numb to hold her weight. Michael climbed through the window and rushed to the bed.

"Hey, Iz, are you okay? You all right?"

Isabel held her head in her hands.

"I'm okay, Michael," Isabel answered unconvincingly. "A little dizzy. It was just a lot to take in."

Michael nodded in agreement.

"Why didn't you tell us earlier? Why didn't you tell Max you saw our mother?"

Michael breathed deeply and looked up at the ceiling.

"Didn't want to. I don't know…he didn't deserve it. He was being…Max. I didn't exactly feel like chatting, but I knew you'd want to see her."

Isabel could understand his hesitance. Max and Michael's fight hadn't so much been resolved as fizzled out, and Michael was too stubborn to be the first to offer an olive branch. Isabel was glad, and a little bit touched, Michael had chosen to share the image with her. She knew he eventually would tell Max.

"Thank you, Michael. You don't know how much this means to me."

"Yeah, I do," Michael responded. He paused, then continued, "I've been thinking about something."

"Always dangerous," Isabel joked. He gave her a sideways glare.

"I've been thinking that maybe you and I should do all that memory retrieval…stuff…some time. We all know how to do it now. Rath and Vilandra probably remember a lot of the same things. If we work together, we might get better dreams. I want to know more, but I don't know if I can find everything by myself."

The idea of working so closely after what had just happened worried Isabel. Her logical mind screamed at her to refuse or stall—anything—but the need for more information (and, perhaps, more contact) made her answer, "Yeah. That could work."

Michael stood.

"Good," he said as he walked back to the window.

"Michael, you don't have to go. I can get Max to-"

"Nah," he interrupted. "I feel like walking home. The birds are singing and the stars are….uh…shining and everything, y'know? Clears the head." Michael lied miserably, obviously wanted to avoid Max.

"I had no idea you were so poetic," Isabel teased.

"I'm full of surprises," Michael returned as he climbed back out through the window.

"Good night, Michael."

Michael paused outside the window.

"Hey, Isabel…sorry about the…thing."

"The thing?" Isabel arched an eyebrow. She enjoyed torturing Michael just a little bit.

"Yeah, the…thing….the kiss," Michael swallowed hard and looked everywhere but at Isabel. "It was the only way I knew-"

"I know, Michael," Isabel cut Michael off, taking pity on him. "Liz and her flashes with Max. I understand."

"Right. Good. Well…I'll see you later. Tomorrow. I'll see you tomorrow." Michael still looked painfully uncomfortable.

"Yeah, see ya tomorrow."

Michael disappeared from the window, walking quickly away.

Isabel sat silently on her bed for a moment, staring at the empty space. She walked across her room, closed her window, and returned to bed. Lying under her soft sheets, Isabel's thoughts raced through her mind. The image of her mother—golden and ethereal, clearly where Vilandra had gotten her good looks—was burned into her mind. Though Isabel had never seen her alien mother before, she instantly recognized her. Tears welled in Isabel's eyes, but she willed them away, realizing how futile crying would be. The reality of how the image had gotten there—the kiss—began to sink in. The contact was thrilling, even electrifying. She recognized Michael had a purely practical reason for acting as he did, but she also knew the kiss—no matter how utilitarian its purpose—stirred many of the same feelings her dreams had. It was simultaneously comforting and exhilarating, familiar and exotic. When she replayed the brief physical connection, her head swirled and her skin tingled. All of the unbidden half-thoughts of desire she had suppressed in the weeks since the dreams began thundered in her mind.

Staring at her ceiling, Isabel realized that sleep—beautiful sleep—had escaped her for another night.

Michael wandered home, his thoughts jumbled, bouncing off one another and circling around each other. His mother. Isabel. He had a family who loved him! He kissed her! His thoughts pounded in exclamations.

Michael dwelled on the moment. The softness of Isabel's skin under his hand and lips, the hint of vanilla wafting through the air as he pulled away. He felt as though he couldn't catch his breath. The new memory overwhelmed him and made his heart thump in his chest. He remembered once reading that a hummingbird's heart beat 1,260 times in a minute; the number sounded incredible to him at the time, but now, it seemed about right. Even as his spine tingled and his head drowned in thoughts, a sinking feeling settled in his gut. How would he look at her now? How would he forget? He could've found another way. Max would find out—he always found out—and kill him, not out of an overly chivalrous need to protect his sister but because it would be that much harder to dodge Tess.

Michael decided he was, in fact, an idiot. A total, complete, inexcusable idiot. Part of him, the man part who Michael realized could not be called on anymore to make reasonable decisions, thought maybe kissing Isabel would get it out of his system. He could kiss her, see it was just like kissing any other girl (maybe even worse if he was really lucky), and drop this stupid…crush….that had developed. Things could be like they were before. Then, he touched her face, leaned forward, and killed his poorly-laid plan. The dreams raced through his head, and he could swear his face actually felt numb from the excitement. He took ragged, erratic breaths and wondered if Isabel could feel the pounding of his heartbeat. Even as he forced himself to focus on the images of his and Isabel's mothers to share with Isabel, he felt flashes of images firing from her mind to his. He knew she didn't mean to send them, but the image channel worked both ways. Her and her family, her and Tess, Alex staring longingly after her, the sky, the desert, the baby, Michael standing at the grill of the Crashdown (looking much better than Michael thought he did in reality), their third grade lunchroom, Hank looming like a Lifetime movie villain, the two of them sitting in a booth and laughing about some lost inside joke- her thoughts from her perspective. Michael hadn't thought he could be any more confused, but her images of him and their time together as friends made him wonder if maybe he had missed something.

Of course, as soon as that thought, full of hope and future promises, crossed Michael's mind, he rejected it. It was unbelievable….yet, it was possible, wasn't it? Why would she be thinking of him and all of their closest moments if she didn't feel something? Then again, maybe he was grasping at nothing, letting his own bewildering feelings influence his perception.

Michael sighed audibly though no one was near enough to hear him. This, Michael thought, was exactly why he stayed out of that love mess everyone was always losing their heads over. Max was an even bigger idiot than he was- not that Michael didn't already know that.

Trudging home lost in thought, Michael failed to notice the red Jetta pull to a gentle roll beside him until the car was nearly stopped and its driver was calling out to him.

"Hey! Michael! Space Boy!"

Maria. _Just_ what Michael needed.

"What?" Michael snapped.

"Geez, I was gonna offer you a ride home, but I'm not so sure you deserve the pleasure of my company now…"

"Guess I'll have to walk, then." Michael knew he was being mean; Maria was persistent, but she didn't deserve that.

"Fine. I hope that terrible Roswell axe-murderer doesn't get you—Czechoslovakians are his _favorite_!" Maria was defensive now, but she still didn't drive away or even speed up.

"Yeah, Roswell's great axe-murderer, 'coz we're so well-known for our serial killers around here."

Maria rolled her eyes.

"Stop being a jerk and just get in the car. It's, like, 1 a.m."

Michael stopped walking and faced her. She was right; it was late and accepting a ride from Maria would be safer than walking home. Even though Michael felt he could handle any human who might want to start trouble, drunk drivers running onto the sidewalk or bored police officers suspicious of a teenager out that late couldn't be handled in an explosive way. Michael verged on agreement, but then he looked at Maria. Underneath her indifferent posturing and sarcasm, Michael saw that look in her eyes—that hopeful, puppy love look she gave him that told him he could not, under any circumstances, accept her offer. He had done enough damage in her life already without dragging on their misguided fling a second longer. If he showed her even the slightest hint of kindness or friendship, she would do the girl thing and analyze it for hours. She'd probably call Liz and maybe even Alex—the poor guy—to decide exactly what each word and gesture really meant, and the whole time she worked to decode him, she would harbor the dream that something was still between them and she would be the one to break through to the "real Michael." How the hell she could know who the real Michael was when even Michael didn't know the real him wouldn't occur to her over-romanticized brain. Then, when he pushed her away again, she would be crushed, her self-esteem shattered…again.

No, there was no way he could accept her offer.

"Go home, Maria. I'm walking. I like to walk. Walking makes me happy." Michael's voice was biting.

"Then walk! I don't need to drive you anywhere!" Maria spat back. indignant.

"Then quit following me!"

Maria looked wounded but also angry. Michael figured the anger was good for her.

"You don't have to worry about me following you, Michael!"

She sped away before Michael had a chance to reply. He thought that was a healthy way to deal with the situation.

When Michael finally returned home, neither axe-murdered nor run over by a drunk driver, he shuffled around his apartment, tired but too restless to sleep. He watched TV but got bored after ten minutes, so he washed the two dishes in the sink. Then, he walked around the living room collecting dirty clothes to throw in the hamper. An hour later, the apartment was neater than it had been since Isabel's cleaning spree, and Michael had just stepped out of the shower. The warm water had felt soothing and managed to slightly settle his busy mind. However, lying in bed, Michael still couldn't sleep. He wondered what Isabel felt. Hell, he wondered what he felt. He hoped Maria was okay. He wished he could see more of his alien family; he wanted to see more of their love for him and his returned love for them. A million thoughts and questions plagued Michael.

Realizing he would probably be staring at drywall for a while longer before sleep finally found him, Michael laughed thinking how dumb he was. Isabel probably had fallen back asleep before he was even off of the Evans's lawn.

Author's Note: I must be inspired this week to turn out another chapter so soon. I'm just gonna enjoy the roll while it lasts ;-) Thank you so much for reading, and remember: Reviews = 3


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Waiting for Isabel in the Crashdown, Tess kept herself occupied by talking to Michael, who was slumped against the counter. Michael surveyed the mostly empty restaurant. There weren't even any waitresses on duty; the new girl was late, so Mr. Parker was keeping an eye on the dining room until she arrived.

"I hate slow days," he mumbled to no one.

"I thought you hated busy days," Tess responded.

"I do. I hate slow days, busy days, and all of the other days," Michael finished in a sigh as he stared off at the wall behind Tess.

She smiled at his grumbling.

"You're just not happy if you don't have something to complain about. I mean, look at me—I've been waiting for—" Tess checked her watch "-fifteen minutes, and Isabel still isn't here. You don't hear me whining."

Michael cast a quick glance at Tess upon hearing Isabel's name.

"Oh, you're meeting Isabel?" He tried to sound uninterested. He tried to imitate the way he'd sound if he were talking about the War of 1812 or shoes.

"Yeah, she called last night."

Tess could see Michael's jaw harden, perhaps even twitch ever so slightly. She wondered what had happened; Isabel sounded okay on the phone.

"Last night," Michael confirmed.

"Yep, last night. It was kind of late, too. Strange, huh?" Tess smiled, watching Michael's reaction. Isabel had called at eight, but Michael didn't need to know that.

Michael's Adam's apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed.

"No, not weird at all. Isabel…she's a night owl. Never sleeps. Sounds pretty normal to me." Michael avoided Tess's probing looks; she wasn't getting anything out of him.

Tess began to speak again, but the sound of the door drew both aliens' attention. Isabel walked through the door, all confidence and smiles. But, a slight furrow of her brow as her eyes landed on them and an almost imperceptible catch in her gait as she gauged the situation betrayed her hesitance—at least to Tess.

"I need to bag onion rings. Dinner rush gets rough," Michael explained weakly as he turned to the kitchen. He didn't wait for a reply from Tess.

Isabel gestured Tess over to a booth, and the two girls slid in, one on either side.

"Wow, I don't think I've ever seen Michael run from anything before. You must have made quite an impression on him last night," Tess said the words playfully, but her meaning was clear. Isabel leaned closer to Tess, all pretense of normalcy now gone.

"He told you?" Isabel half demanded.

"No," Tess smiled. "But I was hoping you would. What's going on? What happened?"

Isabel leaned back in her seat, her expression softening. "Nothing happened…" Isabel began, but at Tess's clearly unconvinced look, she continued. "Michael wanted to show me something. The memories he retrieved in the desert."

Tess remained silent, waiting for Isabel to continue.

"So…he showed them to me. And then he went home. End of story. Have you ordered yet?" Isabel picked up a menu and feigned examining it. Tess mentally replayed Isabel's brief version of events, trying to find the right question.

"How did he show them to you?"

Isabel didn't meet Tess's eyes.

"Through…contact."

"Contact?"

"Physical contact."

"Physical?" Tess raised her eyebrows and smiled.

Isabel dropped the menu and leaned in again. "We kissed. Once. For the memories."

Tess's eyes widened, and she tried, poorly, to suppress her grin. She cast a quick glance across the restaurant at Michael, who was clearly doing his best impression of cooking.

"But that whole 'destiny' thing—it's just meaningless, right?" Tess was enjoying the moment far too much.

"It's not destiny. There's no big meaning behind this. It's just me and Michael and…and we're trying to remember whatever we can. That's all."

Tess's grin dissolved slightly, disbelief clear in her arched brow.

"Fine. Deny it. All of you keep denying it, keep making yourselves miserable," Tess paused for a moment, willing Isabel to meet her gaze.

"I'm not mis—"

"Don't tell me you've never felt drawn to Michael, or that you've never felt connected to him." Isabel started to interrupt, but Tess continued, anticipating her argument. "And not like Max, not like a brother. Michael was separated from you, right? When you were kids? That's how you and Max ended up adopted and Michael ended up...where he was." Isabel grimaced. She wasn't sure how much Tess knew about Hank. "Did you cry every night? Were you always looking over your shoulder, waiting for him?" Isabel tried to recall what she had and had not told Tess- how much was known fact and how much was speculation.

"That's not fair. I would have done the same if it had been Max."

"But what about me? I was gone. You didn't know I was missing."

Isabel looked down, unable to meet Tess's blue eyes.

"I'm not asking for pity. I remembered who you were, but I didn't cry for you, either; Nasedo wouldn't have allowed it. Do you really think that wandering in the desert together when you were children is what bonded you to either of them? You're connected to Max—in this life- because he was your brother before just like he is now. When we met and you found out who I was, you knew I belonged with all of you because some part of you remembered me. How are you connected to Michael? How did you remember him all of those years until you found him again?" Tess's stare remained focused. After a long, quiet moment, Isabel lifted her head.

"I don't know. I can't—"Isabel stopped, took a deep breath. "I love Max. I love Michael. Max is my brother, and Michael…isn't." Isabel paused, swallowed hard. "When you came, I didn't know what you were; all I knew was that you were different. When I saw Michael for the first time… this is stupid," Isabel shook her head, embarrassed.

"No, it's not," Tess pleaded. "When I met you and Michael, I knew who you were. It was like finding a family I didn't know I had or even wanted. I had Nasedo; until then, he was my family. But, when I saw Max…when I looked into his eyes- even though I had to watch him love someone else- I felt like I was home. Every time I'm with him, I still feel that. It's exciting and powerful but familiar at the same time. Maybe we're not destined to be together, but I wouldn't throw away all of these things I've just started feeling to prove that destiny doesn't exist."

Isabel didn't know how to respond to Tess's honesty, laid plain before her, other than with the truth.

Isabel spoke quietly, "Sometimes I wonder if he's something else, but I don't know. I don't know if this is me or if it's what someone out there wants me to feel. The more I learn about who I am and what I've done, the more I think…," she braced herself, as Tess listened intently. "The more I think it doesn't matter. The more I think it's the same thing."

Music filled the void as the two girls sat silently across from one another, Isabel absently examining the ketchup bottle while Tess watched shadows flicker across the leg of the table next to theirs.

Behind the heated window, Michael watched the conversation unfold. When Isabel had first arrived, he had retreated to the kitchen. It was work, so he ought to be working, right? No shame in that. Plus, whatever awkward conversation awaited him and Isabel probably would not be one that Tess should be part of. He could only imagine what ideas she would have on the topic of him and Isabel and…kissing. He hoped the girls would eat fast and get out. Until then, he would be a wall, and nothing the girls said—and no matter how much Tess stared—would faze him. He was a burger-flipping, fryer-dipping wall of emotionless hybrid concrete.

At least, that was Michael's plan until a word that sounded very much like his name coming out of Isabel's mouth caught his ear. He snuck a sideways glance at their table, but, balancing curiosity and his need to stay relatively unseen, he only managed to glimpse Tess's intense stare and her combative posture. Michael couldn't view Isabel's face from his position by the grill, but he could tell from her lowered head and the set of her shoulders that she was the one under attack. Unbidden, the flash of an image—Vilandra, death, falling—caught Michael off-guard. He gripped the spatula more tightly.

The door jangled open as Maria hurried through, uniform in hand. Michael was certain it was the new girl's shift, but there Maria was, in a buzzing, lavender-scented flurry. She eyed Michael with both longing and utter hatred as she passed him. Fate—that force which caused Maria to work every shift Michael worked and ensured Tess spoke to Isabel before he could— did not appear to be Michael Guerin's friend. Mr. Parker posted a to-go order, and Michael started laying out the chicken tenders and onion rings. Meanwhile, Isabel rose from the booth and Tess followed her out the door. Maria paused at the swinging door to the back room.

"Did they even eat?"

Michael grunted a nonreply.

"So, been busy? Gettin' hot back there yet?" Maria leaned into the window, avoiding the heat lamps at the top of the frame.

"It's 105 degrees outside, and I'm spending all afternoon hanging over a grill. Of course it's hot back here."

Maria rolled her eyes in exaggerated disgust.

"You don't have to get snippy."

"Guys don't get snippy," Michael huffed in what he realized probably was a snippy tone. "Don't you have work to do? Something about waitressing? Or did you only come here to bother me?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm here because Courtney called in—again. If that girl calls in again, it better because her skin is literally falling off of her body," Maria turned around sharply and marched away, grabbing a mustard bottle that probably didn't need to be refilled as she went.

Dinner service picked up as the heat drove customers inside, and Michael silently thanked whoever was listening for answering his prayers. Half an hour before close, the restaurant had mostly emptied out. Maria was jamming a broom underneath tables while the restaurant's only customer, an old man in dusty overalls, finished eating a burger painfully slowly while reading a newspaper. Michael had already started cleaning the kitchen when a voice called over the bar.

"Hey…Michael?"

Michael was kneeling beneath the island in the kitchen as he tried to restack cans of ketchup on a low rack.

"Yeah?" He looked up. "Oh."

Max stood by the stools. He looked flushed and tired, and he was still wearing his dorky uniform from the UFO center.

"Maria said you were back here. She said it wasn't too late to get something to take home."

Michael exhaled heavily as he stood up. "I'll bet she did."

"I only want a shake, but Isabel wanted an order of fries," Max half-smiled, "and a cherry Coke."

Michael turned and grabbed a bag of fries from the freezer and dropped them in the fryer. He stood for a moment, staring at the bubbling oil. He wasn't in the mood to fight with Max. He didn't even want to talk to him. He willed Max to remain silent behind him.

"Busy night?"

Not all prayers, it seemed, would be answered tonight.

Michael turned and looked at his friend.

"Not too bad." Michael was tempted to turn his back on Max again, but the image of Isabel, laughing and teasing him about his card cheating a few nights earlier while Max smiled along in a rare moment of levity, held him to his place. "How was work?

"Kind of…boring. I think I almost fell asleep in a pile of rubber asteroids."

Michael smiled at the image.

"Better be careful—that's a highly sought-after job, y'know?"

Max nodded his agreement, and the two fell into a semi-awkward silence.

"So…Isabel's at home?" Max nodded. "Tess with her?" Max nodded again.

"I think she's spending the night."

"That must be loads of fun."

"It's not bad. She's there to see Isabel, not me."

Michael half-snorted at Max's claim.

"Yeah, you're just background noise in the world of Tess Harding. I wish I was that good at lying to myself."

Max's expression of neutral friendliness faltered.

"Tess knows how I feel about her." Max glanced at Maria as she passed by. "And I would say you're probably pretty good at lying to yourself by now."

"Really? You think so? Well, tell me, how exactly do you think of Tess? " Michael didn't know why he was picking a fight, but he couldn't let it go. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was Max's insinuation that Michael was in denial when it came to his non-relationship with Maria.

"She's a friend. I care about her because she's a friend and she's one of us. We have to stick together, but I don't have to love her," Max coolly explained; Michael thought he only sounded vaguely patronizing.

"When Tess first came here, you thought she was warping your mind because after five minutes together you were willing to forget all about Liz—" Michael knew he shouldn't have said the "L" word "—and say that you couldn't control yourself around her. What happened to all that stuff? Did that magically go away when Liz left, or are you just too stubborn, or maybe afraid, to do what Liz wanted and act on it?"

"Michael," Max's voice was commanding now, but he hadn't been pushed to anger yet. "What I do is none of your business. You don't know what you're talking about."

Michael was upset now—about what, he wasn't quite sure.

"Then tell me I'm wrong. Tell me some part of you still doesn't want Tess."

"The alien part wants her, not the human part."

Michael leaned back, slightly smug.

"That's still part of you. It's the part we try to figure out every time we go out into the damn desert in the middle of the day. It's the part that might save our lives if whatever signal we sent out two months ago was actually received by someone out there. How do you even know there is a separate human part and alien part? Isn't it possible they're mixed together and could work together?"

"I appreciate your concern, but being with Tess isn't going to help us if we have enemies looking for us."

"No, but being happy might."

Max let a grim smile flash across his features, defusing some of Michael's mounting frustration. "Since when did you become so concerned about my well-being?"

"Since you started avoiding us. You're right—we're stronger together, and moping around won't help any of us."

"You sound like Isabel."

Michael smiled in spite of himself.

"Bound to happen eventually."

Max smiled back and started to say something when the timer sounded behind Michael, alerting him that the fries were done. Glad for an escape before the conversation took any unexpected, Isabel-related turns, Michael stalked back into the kitchen to finish the order.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Hope you guys liked Chapter 10 and enjoy Chapter 11 (Better late than never, right?). Review and let me know if you all are still interested in the story—I know it's been a while!

Max wasn't sure how he had gotten home. The car ride was a blur—setting sun, pavement, Michael, heat, rocks, Liz, dreams, milkshake, wind, Tess. Today, he didn't feel like a king.

He sat behind the wheel of the jeep, tired. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He wanted the fog of memories muddling his thoughts to clear; he wanted to know who he was.

Every time he had left work that summer, he had almost convinced himself to keep driving. He didn't know how far Florida was from Roswell, but he thought he could be there in a day and a half, maybe two. Today, however, he didn't feel like seeing the beach. He only wanted to see his parents and Isabel. He only wanted to feel normal.

Max pulled himself out of the seat, sweat already dampening the legs of his pants under his thighs. He grabbed the bag with Isabel's fries and his milkshake, still thick in the Styrofoam cup, and dragged himself to the front door.

Inside, Max listened to the sounds of the house. The beautiful air conditioning hummed, music played softly from the living room (he could picture his mother sitting on the couch with a book), and the quiet sound of Tess and Isabel drifted in from the kitchen. He walked toward the voices, already digging a fry out of Isabel's bag, but a sound, a fragment of conversation, stopped him.

"But how was it?" Tess sounded curious, perhaps even eager.

Isabel sighed. He knew that sigh—she was annoyed, but she was going to answer.

"It was just a kiss, like any other kiss."

A kiss? Who was kissing his sister?

There was a pause, and Max almost broke his position outside the kitchen to find out exactly what was going on.

"Don't give me that look." Isabel again. "It was nice."

Max had to stifle a groan. He didn't want to hear about his sister kissing anyone, or anyone kissing her, and he certainly didn't need to hear that it was "nice."

"Not a slobbery mess 'nice' or stars and galaxies 'nice?'"

There was no answer, and Tess laughed. Max assumed that meant it was the latter. His interest was piqued, but the sound of shuffling chairs forced him forward into the kitchen.

"Hey, Max," Isabel greeted her brother too brightly.

Tess smiled at him but remained silent.

"Hey." Max looked between them, seeking some clue. "What's up?"

"Just talking. Girl stuff."

Max knew that his nod and smile were no more convincing than Isabel's lie.

"I think those are mine…" Isabel reached for the bag as she walked toward her brother. Max grabbed one more fry before handing it over, and Isabel gave him an exaggerated eye roll in return. She ungraciously took the bag from his hand and walked to the cabinet to get sauce.

"You look hot," Tess observed from her place by the table.

Max floundered for a moment, mouth opening and closing once like a struggling fish.

"Hot?"

"Warm. Does the UFO Center not have air conditioning?" Tess was clearly amused.

"Oh. Yeah, it does. It's just…summer." Max knew how stupid he sounded.

"Summer," Tess repeated teasingly.

On the other side of the kitchen, Isabel was ready to gag. From across the house, a phone rang. Mrs. Evans picked it up in the living room; a moment later, she called Isabel's name.

Alone in the kitchen, Max looked out the window above the sink, and Tess looked at Max. The moon was already visible in the sky, and Max's earlier thoughts of faraway planets and of a job he wasn't prepared for clamored loudly in his head. Silence reigned for what seemed like an eternity before Max spoke.

"Have you ever wondered if they made a mistake?"

"Who?"

Max pointed a single finger skyward.

"What do you mean?" Tess crinkled her brows, trying to understand.

"Maybe they made a mistake sending us here. There were too many variables- if we hadn't been separated when we came out of the pods, if we had remembered where we came from and who we were..."

Tess walked closer to him in small, delicate steps.

"No."

Max glanced at her sideways, and then turned his gaze out the window.

"Not remembering the past doesn't mean the past isn't still part of us. We will remember…if we keep trying. It may be harder this way, but they wouldn't have sent us here if we couldn't handle it. _You_ wouldn't have sent us here."

"I'm glad one of us has so much faith in me."

"You were a good king, Max. You made the best choice you could."

Max took a deep breath and let it go slowly.

"I don't feel like a king."

Tess smiled, affection and admiration apparent in her eyes.

"You didn't then, either."

Max looked at her, skeptical.

"You remember that?"

"I remember a lot. More every day…every night," Tess didn't meet his eyes as she said the last part, and Max didn't blame her—some of the dreams he'd had would be uncomfortable to discuss, and he assumed she'd had the same dreams herself. She continued, "I've been dreaming a lot since we started working on memory retrieval together. When we first met, you were nervous. You didn't even talk to me yourself the first time you saw me; you had Larek do it for you. You may have been born to the royal family, but you weren't born a king; you became one. I remember how you looked the day we announced our engagement…so different than the boy who couldn't ask me my name."

Tess inched closer to him, and Max turned fully toward her. Fragments flashed through his mind, first in disjointed images, like flipping through an album, but they rapidly became clearer and formed coherent scenes. He remembered seeing her—Ava, Tess, whoever—standing beside him. She glowed with the whitest light he had ever seen, and he never took his eyes off of her. Her energy was calm, soothing, and powerful; he pulled that energy from her as he acted the part of prince and future king in front of the crowd.

"You were so beautiful that day," Max murmured, lost in the memory. "I knew you were going to be queen, and I wasn't nervous anymore."

Tess's hand reached out and touched Max's gently. He looked at her hand on his and turned his palm up to touch hers, but at the sound of Isabel reentering the room, he jerked quickly away. Tess turned, startled, and crossed her arms in front of her. Isabel paused, surprise clear on her face.

Before Isabel could speak, Max asked, "Who was it?"

"Uhhh…," Isabel fumbled, trying to hold her reaction to the situation she had encountered. "Lindsay Carroll. She wanted to know if I was going to volunteer at the community center again this fall."

"Oh? Are you?" Max tried to sound as genuinely interested as possible.

"Yeah, I think so. Looks good on college applications."

"Yeah…yeah. You know, I think I'm gonna go upstairs and change. It's been a long day, and I'm kind of..." Max was already retreating out of the room as he trailed off.

Isabel watched him disappear from the room, and then she turned to look at Tess, eyebrows raised.

"Should I ask?"

"There's nothing to ask about. Max is remembering more, and he's dealing with it. I'm trying to help."

Isabel didn't buy Tess's innocent version, but she didn't want to set herself up to discuss The Michael Situation, as she referred to it, anymore.

"Let's just…not talk about guys or memories or anything weird today anymore. Tonight is a normal night. A normal, happy, girls' night."

"That sounds like fun!" Diane Evans grinned happily at the two girls as she walked toward the sink with an empty water glass in her hand.

"Maybe you should join us," Tess offered.

"Oh, no, I wouldn't want to impose," Diane said as she shook her head.

"No, Tess is right, Mom. You should come with us. We're going to rent movies and get the big boxes of theater candy; it'll be fun."

Isabel was sincere; she hated lying to her parents, her mother especially. Alien problems or social problems seemed to keep her away from her mother more and more, and Isabel couldn't imagine anything more normal or human than spending a night with a friend and her mom. Diane's smile faltered for a moment at Isabel and Tess's offer, and Isabel thought her mother might tear up.

"Well, my eyes are getting tired from reading—no old age jokes, girls- and I don't have any plans tonight…so why not!"

At midnight, the movies over and the lights out, Isabel and Tess fell asleep in Isabel's room. Within minutes, dreams once again disrupted the sleep of Isabel Evans while Tess rested peacefully. Across town, Michael threw himself violently upright in his bed as his senses were attacked with the same barrage of images Isabel was receiving—battlefields glowing with silver and red blood, green oceans tossing beyond the palatial grounds, crimson lakes encompassed by thick, moss-covered trees, the rock formation, Isabel in a black gown, a toddler with blonde hair and a joyous laugh, Michael pulling Isabel toward him, symbols in red stone, hand prints.

At two o'clock, Michael arrived outside of Isabel's bedroom window.

. He wanted to drive to the desert and listen to the sound the wind made when it whipped around the rocks; he wanted to lie flat on the warmest ledge he could find and sleep under the stars.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**Author's Note: **Last chapter was M/T heavy, but there's some major Cliffie lovin' this time around. I must be on a writing kick this week =) Enjoy!

Michael stood outside, clad in sweats and a black t-shirt. He appeared uneasy as he looked inside, watching Isabel move from her bed to the window. Isabel opened the window, and Michael searched Isabel's face.

"Did you see them, too?" He finally asked. Isabel nodded her response.

"I can't keep doing this. I can't go to sleep not knowing what I'm going to see- if I'm going to see people dying or…us…," Isabel trailed off. She turned her gaze from him to the sky, thoughtful.

"We're going to figure this out," Michael said as he reached a hand through the window to touch Isabel's arm. She looked down at the hand but still didn't meet his eyes. "Come with me."

"Where?" Isabel finally looked up. His breath caught at the pain in- and beauty of- her large, brown eyes.

"The desert."

"Michael—"

"Iz, I can't sit in my apartment staring at the walls waiting for—for what? For Max to say that it's okay for us to remember who we were and that we're not human, that normal might not be an option for us? I don't know if there are any answers for us in the desert, but at least out there we're not surrounded by people watching us," Michael was gripping the window sill now, his knuckles turning white. His barely-contained frustration unnerved Isabel; she was used to seeing Michael lose his temper, but she wasn't used to seeing him struggle with it like this, torn between anger and a desire to fix things he couldn't possibly fix.

Isabel looked back at Tess, still asleep in her bed. She thought of Max, and she pictured his trademark concerned frown. If he found out that she and Michael were sneaking off to the desert in the middle of the night for any alien-related reason (or, she thought, for any human reason), he would give the frown, say her name in that tentative but probing way, and make her recount every detail of her dreams. But, with Michael standing before her and the night sky lit with stars—Was one of the planets that shone like stars their home? Could they see the same stars from their home?—Isabel couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

"Okay. I'll get the jeep. We have to be back before Max gets up or he'll freak."

Michael looked relieved at her response and nodded.

"I'm going to put on some jeans. I'll be out in a minute," Isabel said and then disappeared from view.

Michael turned to face away from the window. He honestly didn't know why he had come to the Evans' house; he had woken up in a cold sweat, the dream making him bolt upright in his bed. He had gotten up, grabbed his keys, and walked straight out the door with no other destination in mind. He felt compelled to go to the desert, the rock formation but he also needed to see Isabel alive, he needed to speak to her, and he suddenly needed very badly for her to come with him.

The sound of the window reopening behind Michael caused him to turn; Isabel slipped over the sill. Even as unsettled as he was, Michael still was struck by how beautiful his friend looked, her features gently lit with moonlight and the stars framing her profile as she led him around the house. He felt like an idiot, but more and more, everything about her—her tall, curvy form (womanly, not girlish), her wide eyes, her long, golden hair, her laugh, her sarcasm, even—enticed him. He knew it wasn't just Rath trying to pipe up, either; when Michael thought of Isabel, he thought of who she was now, not what some part of him remembered. His happiest moments this summer had been when he was with Isabel, and there was nothing alien in that. He tried to remember the last time Isabel hadn't been there for him or hadn't made him feel like he was valued, wanted. From the time he had reunited with Max and Isabel in third grade, she had taken care of him. And now, he was hopeless.

They rolled the jeep out of the driveway in neutral, not turning on the lights or turning the engine over until they were on the street and moving past the Evans' house where Max, Tess, and Isabel's parents still slept. Neither Michael nor Isabel said anything for a long time. They watched mile markers pass by along the highway, and soon they were ready to pull off. Isabel parked the jeep and looked over at Michael.

"Are we going up?"

Michael looked around; the desert stretched on quiet and dark for miles around them in all directions. A sense of peace permeated from the landscape.

"Yeah, sure. I don't really have a plan, y'know?"

Isabel smiled at him. "You think that's a surprise?"

The two got out of the car and started the walk toward the rocks. A few minutes of walking and a hand raise later, the two found themselves surrounded by the glowing cave they had emerged from a decade before. Isabel walked around the perimeter of the cave running her hand along the wall as she went. Michael stood still near the entrance, studying every part of the cave as he stood.

"Should we try the memory retrieval techniques Tess showed us?" Isabel looked over at him as she spoke.

Michael shrugged. "We could, or we could just talk."

Isabel raised an amused eyebrow at him. "Michael Guerin wants to talk about his feelings?"

"Don't make a big deal out of it."

Isabel continued examining the walls of the chamber, seeming to take in every ridge and crease, looking for something that Michael doubted was there. "Everything has changed so much over the last year," Isabel thought aloud. "The FBI, Tess, Max saving Liz. Max and Liz together, you and Maria…"

"Broke up," Michael filled in.

"You're broken up _for now_. She'll wear you down," Isabel said, still not looking at Michael.

"No, she won't. She's been trying all summer, but we're not together."

"The stoic soldier thing, huh?" Isabel smiled as she said it, but the smile didn't meet her eyes.

"Sort of. Maria's…Maria. I care about her, but we're not supposed to be together. We'll kill each other."

"You already knew that, though. Didn't stop you before."

Michael thought he detected a hint of jealousy in Isabel's voice, though he wasn't sure if it was truly present or if he was misunderstanding her. Girls were too complicated sometimes.

"No, but Maria needs a human. She needs some guy who will follow her around and give her the fairy tale thing. She deserves that."

"And you can't give that to her?"

"Not her, no. You can't expect your life to be a chick flick and then be with me."

"Our lives are a little bit too complex for that, aren't they?"

"Yeah, I think you could say that." Michael stared at the floor of the chamber. He made a point not to watch Isabel as she continued her mindless journey around the chamber even though he was trying very hard to determine what she was thinking.

"And what do you need, Michael?"

Michael looked at Isabel across the pod chamber. She was still touching the wall, but her eyes were fixed on him. When she stared at him like that, it was like being under the heat lamps at the Crashdown. He remembered being a child and feeling her staring at him before he had ever spoken to her and realized that she was different in the same way he was. What did he need? In that moment, every cell in Michael's body, both human and alien, needed Isabel. Michael, who always had one boot on the floor, ready to pick up and go home—another planet—at a moment's notice, needed someone, and the thought horrified him, though it didn't surprise him.

"I need to know what you saw when we kissed."

Even though Isabel had been the one trying to provoke a response, when it came, she was unprepared.

"We talked about this, Michael. You showed me our families."

Michael sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Isabel noticed how much tamer it had become over the summer- another thing that had changed.

"Besides that. Did you see anything else?"

Isabel ventured away from the wall and walked toward Michael but stopped halfway.

"Why? What did you see?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I asked you first," Michael replied, not a little childishly. Isabel didn't immediately respond.

After what seemed like hours, Isabel spoke, "I think I saw more than you meant me to. I saw us together, like in our dreams, and I saw me. I think I saw myself the way that you see me."

"And what did you think of that?" Michael's skin tingled; he wouldn't have been surprised to see electricity jumping from his fingers. His heartbeat thumped loudly in his ears.

"It wasn't bad," Isabel said, her expression remaining neutral. "What did you see?"

"The same."

Isabel looked mildly concerned.

"I didn't know I was so good-looking."

Isabel blushed and walked away from Michael, toward the pods.

"What are we doing, Michael?"

Michael went toward her.

"I have no clue."

They were standing next to one another, then.

"You kissed me to show me your memories, right? There was no other reason…"

"Right."

The two stared at one another, trying to gauge thoughts and feelings without giving any away. They were in a standoff, both guarded and exposed.

"Do you think it would work again?" Michael asked, breaking the silence.

"What?" Isabel looked almost frightened.

"If we wanted information, it worked the first time. So," Michael stepped closer. "Do you think it would work again?"

"I, I…"

"There's more for you to see."

Michael reached out and touched one of Isabel's hands with his, loosely holding it. She shivered unconsciously at the touch. His other hand raised and brushed her hair over her shoulder before settling at the delicate spot along her jaw at the top of her neck. Isabel remained frozen in place, absorbing the feeling of his touch. Michael leaned in, and Isabel, awakening at the proximity, leaned forward to close the space between them as her hand came to rest at his side.

Images flooded their thoughts. Memories of their past flashed quickly- Vilandra, Rath, their home planet, engagement, Vilandra's pregnancy, death, the pods. Fragments of forgotten lifetimes surfaced and swirled in, some of them making sense and others still hazy. The memories slowed as the ones from this lifetime began filtering in- children wandering the desert, the elementary school cafeteria, Isabel pushing a tray toward Michael and his acceptance of it as though her were taking a block of gold instead of half-warm mashed potatoes and mystery meat, the only snowball fight Michael had ever been part of where a very young Isabel had landed a hit right in Michael's face and then ran away, Isabel sitting at the Crashdown with Max- in Michael's mind they were the only people in the crowded restaurant, a hundred moments of them wasting time together riding in the jeep or joking around that shouldn't have been remembered but were- both of them watching one another, talking, teasing, laughing, crying. For Michael, at the heart of it all was Isabel. For Michael, Isabel was who made him feel wanted. In the clarity of the moment, Isabel had to force the tears back from her eyes.

After the onslaught of images slowed, Michael and Isabel remained locked together in the kiss, and they felt the full physical thrill of the experience, from the pressure of each other's lips to the warmth of each other's hands. The sensation of Isabel's body pressed against his made Michael think of what Max had said after Tess first arrived—that he couldn't control himself around her. Michael had been to the eraser room more than a few times with Maria, and he had been carried away, sure, but he didn't know precisely what Max meant until then as all of his molecules buzzed and sung out for closer contact.

A few moments later, though, Isabel pulled back, still entangled with Michael but far enough back to look him in the eyes now.

"Michael, is this happening because it's supposed to happen or because we want it to happen?"

"I don't think this has to be that complicated. It you and me, not an intergalactic event."

Isabel thought of the dreams, the flashes, destiny, Tess, the stone book. Michael closed her in a hug, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

"If you tell me that it's too much…we'll stop. This'll be it."

To be with Michael meant dealing with and possibly hurting Max, Tess, her family, Maria (who Isabel liked, even if she didn't understand her), Liz, Alex—wonderful, romantic, funny, human Alex. But, with the feeling of the kiss still fresh in her mind and her skin still pinpricking with excitement, Isabel also knew that being with Michael meant possibly being happy in a way she had never been—as insane as the thought of Michael even being happy himself was. When Max began dating Liz, Isabel had realized with painful clarity how alone she was, and for the first time, standing there in the cave, Isabel did not feel that ever-present isolation. She felt a vibrating connection to another person, to an uncharted part of herself, and to the walls of the chamber around her.

"Michael, if this doesn't work out…we'll still be…," Isabel sighed, the words not coming to her. "I'm trying to say that, all my life, you and Max—"

"We'll always be there. Both of us, whether you want us there or not. Nothing will change that."

Isabel smiled against his shoulder thinking of the two who wanted so badly to protect her even though she often found herself watching out for them. She raised her head, still not quite looking at him.

"I've been thinking about this all summer, ever since the dreams started. I've driven myself crazy trying to decide if it's destiny or if it's our choice, trying to decide if what I felt was put there or if it was there on its own." Isabel looked into Michael's waiting eyes. "And all of my thinking had made me realize that, as long as I'm me and you're you, there isn't anything out there making us do anything we don't want to do."

At Isabel's words, the two closed the small distance between them again, lips touching once more but now with a freedom that hadn't existed before. There was no other purpose for the kiss; neither of them awaited flashes, though they sporadically came in exhilarating bursts. Time became infinitely expendable, and a vague sensation of floating came over Isabel that only intensified as her desire grew. Michael broke the embrace, willing himself away. Isabel looked at him, flushed and confused.

"We have time. There's no hurry," he explained in a deep, thick voice that betrayed the even, controlled tone he was attempting to achieve. "We should go. If we keep having the dreams, we'll tell Max and Tess and figure them out together."

He grasped her hand tightly, and he led her out of the chamber. They carefully climbed down the rocks to the jeep. In the jeep, Michael held off a moment before buckling his seatbelt and looked over at Isabel who was sitting next to him.

"I don't think we should tell Max- not right away, at least." Isabel looked at him questioningly. "I want to enjoy this for a little while before we deal with Max." Michael felt guilty asking her to do this for him. He knew how much she hated lying to her family, and despite their occasional conflicts, lying to Max usually made Michael uneasy, too.

"Max does tend to worry about things he shouldn't," Isabel said. "Okay, not right away, but soon. Deal?"

"Deal." Michael checked the time and grimaced. "It's late. We've gotta head back."

Isabel turned the jeep on, and they took off, both still filled with nervous excitement.

Isabel stopped to drop Michael off at his apartment. He unsnapped his seat belt and squeezed Isabel's hand once. Then, he got out and started to slowly walk to his door. When he was halfway there, Isabel called out to him.

"Michael," she called as quietly as she could. He turned and took a few steps toward the jeep. "I just wanted to let you know that even though we're…whatever we are…I still think you're stubborn and a slob who needs to clean his house at least ten times more often than he does."

Michael nodded, and replied, "Well, Isabel, I just wanted to let _you_ know that even though we're 'whatever'-ing, I still think you're a control freak who needs to lighten up. You don't get called the Christmas Nazi for nothing."

"I knew you guys called me that! You liars!"

Michael smiled, "Never."

Isabel tried to look insulted; the exchange felt comfortable and natural. The normalcy of how they still spoke to one another reassured her.

"Good night, Michael."

"Good night, Iz."

Michael walked to his apartment door, and Isabel drove home in silence, a small grin tugging the corners of her lips as she listened to the sound of wind rushing by her. She arrived home at just after 5 a.m. and managed to sneak into her window undetected. As Isabel lowered herself carefully into her bed, Tess, whose eyes were still closed, simply said, "Details in the morning," and then rolled over and went back to sleep.

Almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, Isabel was asleep. The only dream that came was of sparkling desert night skies and brown eyes. Across town, Michael slept without waking for the first time in weeks.

**NOTE: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. The story's almost at an end, I think, but there's still some territory to explore. Review and let me know what you think!**


End file.
